Eliza Doolittle: The Life and Times of a Good Girl
by vcatrashfiend
Summary: A brief history of our beloved heroine, and a look into the future. *Now Complete* Reviews are great!
1. Dirty Letters

Eliza Doolittle: The Life and Times of a Good Girl

By: vcatrashfiend

Summary: A brief history of our beloved heroine. Our story starts off where "My Fair Lady" ended and from then on takes us about fifteen years into the past. Fear not, this will eventually become an Eliza/Higgins romance.

Rated: M for mature content including allusion to abortion, child abuse, some naughty language, and mild sexual content

Disclaimer: Any character that is easily recognizable, such as the title character, do not belong to me. I have thrown in a few fresh faces along the way, though.

Author's note: This story would not be possible without the relentless encouragement of my one of my dearest friends since grade school. Thank you darling, your questions and suggestions are invaluable! Also, I've gained a beta! Thank you Lady Weasleyy!

* * *

Her heart was pounding against her chest with such a force that she could scarcely draw breath.

_You are heading the wrong way, idiot girl! _Eliza squeezed her eyes shut in a vain attempt to smote her inner-monologue. Why did her conscience sound like him? She was definitely heading in the right direction. Off to dear Freddy. Freddy who did not bully, or raise his voice. Freddy who worshipped where others mocked. Freddy of the youthful face and dimples. Freddy of the boisterous laugh that… grated on her nerves really. An insincere staccato rhythm punctuated by the slightest high pitched squeak. The mere hint of his laughter was enough to set her teeth on edge.

His letters were truly awful. Truly. Eliza's education history had run the gamut between negligent and unorthodox, but she was clever enough to recognize uninspired drivel. The spelling errors, the repetitious usage of "darling" and "angel". Disgustingly sweet. It was enough to make her want to be sick.

"But it shows he loves me," she whispered to herself, turning the corner to Freddy's street. More than that. She blushed as she recalled an overly familiar letter he had sent her. It had arrived quite late at night, Eliza being the only one awake to answer the door and retrieve it, as Mrs. Pearce had the night off. It had been delivered by a young boy who looked quite tired, but was clearly clutching a one pound note in his fist. Apparently he had been instructed to run as fast as he could to deliver it safely to Wimpole Street, and a larger reward was promised him if he returned to the pub Freddy was currently sitting at with proof it had been put in good hands. Eliza pitied the rather scruffy child, and sent him on his way with a bit of ribbon for proof, adding a few shillings to line his own pockets.

Eliza, good girl that she was, became light-headed and nearly fainted upon reading the childishly scrawled missive. Such coarse language! She would have expected it from her acquaintances of her father, but not gently bred Freddy Eynsford-Hill! It was a message suited for the lowest trollop in the dirtiest of bawd houses. He expressed his explicit wishes to become acquainted with the most secret part of her anatomy. He waxed poetry about her breasts… perhaps not poetic, but he did mention them. Several times. It was too much for her, and she had made her way to the fireplace, intent on destroying the letter. Clearly he had been drinking. If she destroyed the evidence, it was likely only she would be the only one to remember the incident, if only she had been more quiet…

"_Who is the damn fool stomping about this hour of night_?… Oh, Eliza, it's you." Henry Higgins descended the stairs and walked over to the pale girl, who quickly, too quickly, hid the letter behind her back while simultaneously pulling her wrapper about her nightgown with her free hand. His suspicions were clearly aroused.

In one quick movement, he reached around and snatched the letter. _"Come now, Eliza, it's just another Lettre d'amour from that stupid boy. Pray don't be missish, we've laughed over them before."_

_"You've laughed, not I… Please, don't read it_!" She cried in vain. It was too late. He had straightened the crumpled missive, and his eyes sparkled with mischief as he began to read. The light expression on his face fled, and was replaced with something far more thunderous.

_"So, the love sick moon-calf has a touch for the perverse, does he?" _He narrowed his eyes and looked her dead in the face. _"I suppose you've played the coquette, and have been encouraging this?" _He waved the letter in front of her.

_"No, Professor Higgins, I swear!"_

_"I suppose you wait until everyone is abed, and come downstairs to wait longingly for letters such as these?"_ He inched closer to, forcing her to back up. Her heart pounded unsteadily, and the light-headed feeling was returning. She had never seen him so inflamed. Not her mocking, bully of a Professor. A heat crept up her neck, bringing a crimson blush to her cheeks. She shook her head in a violent motion.

_"No, this is the first I've received like this! I was going to destroy it!"_ He came closer. Tears sprung from her eyes, but at the same time she felt strangely exhilarated. She bit her lip, and cast her eyes to the floor. He was terrifying her, and yet at the same time exciting her to a fervor that was totally unfamiliar.

_"Yes, lower your eyes with false maidenly modesty, you insect. Pretend you don't really yearn for that fool's kisses. Why wouldn't you want them? He is handsome and young enough, isn't he? Young and ardent. What more could you ask in a lover?"_ Her back was now to the wall, and Henry was perilously close to having her pinned with his body. _"Look at me, Eliza!"_

Her eyes met his own, and she was stunned to find them burning with a fire she had never seen before. Not even the time when he had been drilling her on the importance of the English language. So strange to see him as a man and not as a teacher. She was ashamed to find she quite enjoyed it. She did not even pull away when he cupped her face in his hands. _Oh lord, he's going to kiss me! _The idea was not repulsive in the least. She closed her eyes, and pursed her lips in a manner she supposed was conducive to kissing.

Nearly a half minute passed before she felt his hand leave her face. She opened her eyes and witnessed him destroying the letter.

_"You look like a mackerel when you pucker your lips so. It's damned unattractive, Eliza." _He gave her a hard look. _"Not the face of a seasoned lover, clearly. But you have repeatedly hammered the fact that you are a "good girl" into my brain, and I am inclined to believe you."_ He shook his head.

_"Clearly the boy let the liquor cloud his better judgment, therefore I shan't be calling him out." _The last bit was added with a touch of familiar sarcasm that made Eliza chuckle nervously, but comforted her, nonetheless. All would be forgotten in the morning.

_"A duel, Professor Higgins? But you are so old, Freddy would kill you for sure!"_ She retorted jokingly, before realizing she had said the wrong thing. Another dark cloud passed over Henry's features.

_"Good night, Eliza," _he said gloomily, before stomping up the stairs.

The next morning she received a letter from Freddy, stating that he vaguely remembered sending her a letter at an atrocious hour, and begging her forgiveness. For once, Higgins did not snatch the letter from her to regale Pickering and the rest of the staff with Freddy's love sighs.

Upon conjuring the memory of the ill-begotten love letter, Eliza came to a startling realization. Though the scandalous words in the letter were meant to arouse intimate feelings inside of her for Freddy Eynsford-Hill, they did not. Even at his sweetest and most endearing, Eliza regarded him as one might see a loyal yet pesky cocker spaniel. He inspired no ardor whatsoever, even when writing about kissing her on her… well, the less said about that the better, she supposed.

Professor Henry Higgins. There was a conundrum. They had both put on the appearance of having forgotten that night, never mentioning it, or Freddy's letters again. Well, she had thrown the subject of love letters into his face during the most recent row they had had. The last row. She had resolved never to see him again. And yet…

That damned night. Everything had been left unsaid. He hadn't kissed her, hadn't taken advantage… but from the jealous look in his eyes, he very well could have. How quickly unfamiliar sensations arose from just that one look. More than she had ever gotten from Freddy.

As she stood in front of the Eynsford-Hill residence, a feeling akin to getting punched in the stomach overcame her. This. Was. Wrong. She couldn't take another step in that direction. Not towards a dull, uneventful life as Eliza Eynsford-Hill. She turned, and was tempted to run, flee back to an uncertain future as an inhabitant of 27A Wimpole Street. Months of refinement induced her to walk genteelly.

She attempted to soothe her jangled nerves as she walked into the place she had called home for months. What if he threw her out? For certain his pride had been wounded… would he sacrifice it a bit more to let her back in?

The sound of the gramophone pulled her from her nervous inner monologue. Slowly, a relieved grin spread across her face as she recognized her voice. Confident now, she strode over to the machine and gently turned it off, ready to make her presence known…

How far she had come in her life to arrive at this destination.

Author's Note: Well here it is, the first fan fiction I've attempted to write in quite a few years now. If you are curious about the letter Freddy wrote Eliza in his drunken stupor, I would ask you to leave it up to your imaginations. I would say it's along the lines of the letter Robby accidentally sent Cecelia in "Atonement". Also, if you are wondering about Higgins sudden about face in regards to the "almost" kiss, had it been from his POV it would've have dawned on him the second she pursed her lips like a fish that she was truly an innocent and that he had overreacted.


	2. How These Things Begin

Eliza Doolitte: The Life and Times of a Good Girl

Chapter two: How these sort of things begin.

Author's note: This chapter strongly alludes to abortion, so if this squicks you, turn away now! However, I assure you, it is not our dear good heroine going through this peril. As tackling the cockney dialect is tricky, it will be done very lightly… unless I find a good brit-picker. Also, thank you again, Lady Weasleyy for whipping my grammar challenged booty into shape!

* * *

Catherine Doolittle regarded her small daughter with fondness as they sat together at the kitchen table. Alfred was off working, or drinking; Catherine was not quite clear on which. Perhaps both at the same time. She shrugged off the thought, as she did not care. Alfred was very seldom a violent drunk, especially now that he knew she was carrying his second child. Her last black eye had healed fully, and there was not going to be another, not when she was with child. She absentmindedly touched her still flat stomach, and grinned at Eliza when she noticed the gesture had not escaped the child's notice.

"Is that me little baby bruver?" Eliza inquired in an accent that made Catherine wince.

"My brother, Eliza. And please don't add 'V's where they don't belong." Catherine's own polished dialect had admittedly slipped since her descent from assistant lady's maid in a good home, to common-law wife of a dustman. She could sense her becoming just like the other inhabitants of Lisson Grove, and therefore felt a need to impart little lessons on her daughter, lest someday she had an opportunity to rise above her station. She could hope.

"My brother," Eliza mimicked , and was rewarded with a kiss and a toffee. Catherine delighted in her clever little girl, and had begged on her knees, imploring Alfred to let her go to school. He had relented after bargaining for her seldom given conjugal favors. It was a worthy sacrifice, even though Catherine had tried like hell to avoid bedding with him since shortly after Eliza was born. He spent too many nights spending his money on Whitechapel bangtails for Catherine to bed with him for no reason.

"Yes, Eliza, I am going to have a baby. Perhaps you will have a brother, perhaps a sister."

Eliza wrinkled her nose. "Dad don't want no more girls. 'E told me." She gasped when she realized her mistake. "He told me," Eliza added hastily.

Catherine patted the little girl's hand. "I am sure he wouldn't mind a little girl." She truly didn't believe that, but she didn't want to alarm Eliza. Truthfully, Catherine was apprehensive about this baby. Alfred was a bit of a whore-monger, and those girls often carried disease. She wanted to credit him for being safe, but she knew when he was deep in his cups, precaution wasn't often foremost in his mind. That is how it had been with Eliza. Catherine smiled secretively. How wonderful Alfred had been when she first met him.

Catherine had been on her day off, strolling around London in a pretty gown that had been given to her by her mistress. She knew she was fetching, having such fine features, and golden curls, and he had been so handsome, albeit dirty. So tall, so dark and fit. Catherine had even overlooked his horrible accent and allowed him to escort her about.

How charmed she had been when he produced enough money for fare to take her on a day trip to Brighton! They walked along the pier, and Catherine laughed at his bawdy jokes, although she didn't quite understand them. He had bought her a bag of candy, and she boldly rewarded him with a kiss. Perhaps it had been the pint of ale she had earlier with him, but she was feeling bold all around. She had never imbibed before, and it seemed to be clouding her judgment. So much so that she did not realize how late it had become.

Alfred had taken note, and asked if she had enough wages to cover lodging for the night. She had, and drunkenly suggested that one room would do. The next day she returned to her lady , hungover and in disgrace. She was promptly turned away. Alfred reluctantly took her in , and some weeks later she was with child. Once she had fully recovered from Eliza's birth she was beaten soundly for giving him a girl. Beaten, but still kept on as a glorified house servant. Catherine hadn't the resources or references to leave, so she didn't.

So here she was, wallowing in poverty, and mocked for her fine speech. She reverted to his way of speaking when he or his chums were around, as there were times her way of speaking invoked rage in him. He said it made her think she was somehow better than him. Needless to say, Eliza's speech lessons were conducted in private , and the child was forbidden to let her father know that she was steadily progressing past her Lisson Grove dialect.

This day happened to be Eliza's seventh birthday, although Catherine was sure it would pass unnoticed by Alfred, who got over his disappointment in the girl by all but ignoring her. Catherine had limited means, but had tried to make the day special with small gifts of candy, and a home-made doll. Eliza, naturally sweet as she was, treated the gifts with delight and exulted her mother for being "the best mum in the whole wide world".

It was dark when Alfred returned. To Catherine's astonishment, he was carrying the birdcage that she had brought with her when she had moved in with him all those years ago. She gasped when she noticed the cage now contained a song bird beating frantically against the cage.

"Evenin' me darlin's!" He exclaimed, kissing them both soundly on the cheek. He set the cage down on the table, and knelt next to Eliza. "I 'ear our fair lady is turnin' seven today, and I couldn't resist getting' her a little sumfin'." He was drunk alright, but jolly.

"Aoow, Dad! It's beeyotiful!" Eliza cried. She threw her thin arms around his neck and kissed him soundly, before sitting back to observe her pretty little bird. Her smile disappeared abruptly, and a high pitched scream issued from her lips. Catherine gave a start, and Alfred just frowned.

"What is it, poppet?" He demanded. She didn't answer, only continued to scream. Catherine looked at the bird , and then realized that Eliza had noticed it was blinded.

"Where are it's eyes?!" She cried. The tirade lasted a few more moments before Alfred cuffed Eliza on the head so soundly that it knocked the child from her chair. Her cries silenced immediately.

"'Oo bloody cares about it's eyes? It's alive, ain't it?" He started to reach for the cage. "Unless you want me to break it's bloody neck!"

Eliza gasped and shook her head furiously. "No Dad! D-don't kill it!" Catherine helped the child to her feet.

"Alfred, please, she didn't know. It just upset her terribly," Catherine pleaded smoothly. Too smoothly. He narrowed his eyes at her.

"What 'ave I said about that fine speech?" He asked, menacingly, closing in on her.

Eliza came to her mother's rescue. "Dad, don't get angry at Mum, that's just the way she talks. I like it. I think she sounds lovely, and I am learning to talk lovely too so I can be a lady like her!" It was the wrong thing to say, and the child screamed when Alfred punched Catherine in the face.

"Me bloody daughter too? Damn you Catherine!" Catherine was thrown to the ground and Alfred was upon her, raining his fists repeatedly about her head. The pain was excruciating.

"Alfred, the baby!" Catherine screamed. He stopped abruptly and stood. He glared at his terrified daughter.

"Clean 'er up, I'm going out. If I ever 'ear either of you speak like that again, like your better than me, I'll kill you both." He stormed out, stumbling as he went.

"Mum!" Eliza cried piteously once he was gone. Tall girl that she was, she managed to help Catherine to her feet. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to talk fancy. I won't do it again, I promise." She was back to speaking like a true resident of Lisson Grove.

Catherine smiled weakly at her. "He's gone, darling, he can't hear you. Just be more careful next time."

Eliza shook her head. "Nooo, I won't never again. 'E'll kill us both!" Catherine could tell from the child's face that in all likelihood, she would stick to her resolve. It broke her heart.

"You were doing so well, my love. Come now, couldn't you try for me?" Eliza burst into tears.

"Stop it, Mum! Stop it!" Catherine's heart broke as Eliza put her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. The child was more than likely ruined. Catherine stifled a sob, and put a hand over her belly. More babies for Alfred to deride and beat.

She finally saw her life stretched out before her. Alfred would never give up the drink. Although for the most part he was a charming and loving man, there was something dark about him that frightened her. Something that would lead to her ruin, and the ruin of her children. Eliza couldn't be helped. She had been born, and therefore was condemned to live under the stigma of being Alfred P. Doolittle's child. More than likely he would pull her out of school and put her to work soon, especially with the baby coming. Her fine brain wasted on whatever vocation she would be forced to perform. Something cold gripped Catherine's heart when she looked at her daughter and observed that she was a very pretty child. Undoubtedly she would someday be an alluring young woman. It was an allure that Alfred would no doubt exploit, if the means became too dire. With another baby on the way, there was no question that the straits would become very dire. With a shaky sigh, Catherine made her decision.

"Eliza, darlin'," Catherine gently pried the girl's hands away from her ears, "Eliza, I want you to 'op right quick over to Melinda's and tell 'er to send for the special doctor. Tell 'er to send 'im over quickly now, and stay there until she says it's awright for you to come home." Eliza brightened at her mother's speech and nodded.

It was morning before Eliza returned. Catherine was in bed, face and lips as pale as a sheet, tears staining her ashen cheeks, and blood soaking the bed.

"I lost the baby, Eliza. It started shortly after your Dad left, and it was the doctor I 'ad you fetch." Catherine lied painfully. It hurt so very much. Alfred had returned shortly before Eliza and had fled in guilt at the news. Best to let him think it was an accident. She was so weak.

"If the doctor was 'ere, why are you bleedin'? Where is 'e?" She was so smart. So hard to fool, even if she didn't know what an abortion was. It had gone so wrong, and the man who performed it took his money and left her to bleed. Took his dirty instruments and left. Catherine was certain she was dying.

"Come 'ere, Eliza, sit by me." Eliza obeyed. Catherine weakly moved her hand to clasp her daughter's. "It was an accident, Eliza. 'E left because 'e can't do nuffink for me." She shook her head. Enough of this mask. "I am going to die, Eliza. But I have something to tell you, my love." She would go with dignity, speaking like she had been taught to.

"Mum!" Eliza cried , afraid her father would walk in and hear Catherine 'talking fancy'.

"It's alright, Eliza. It doesn't matter anymore. I just wanted to confess that your mother is not a very good girl. Not at all." She paused to let the gravity of the confession sink in. "This is what happens to bad girls, Eliza. But it doesn't have to happen to you, love." She squeezed her daughter's hand.

"'ow can I be good, Mum?"

"You must follow these rules. Never let a man take advantage without marrying you first… especially if he offers you money. Do you hear me, Eliza? Do not sell yourself. It is wicked." Eliza nodded.

"Good girl. You must always be wary of men, especially your father. If he tries to get you to do something that goes against your conscience I want you to run." It was becoming more painful to speak. "If someone comes along , wanting to better your situation… a teacher perhaps, take the opportunity. You are so clever, love, and you need your mind to be nurtured. But again, be wary. Be wary, or this will happen to you…" She wanted to add that she was proud of Eliza, that she loved her, but she was so tired. So she slept, leaving her daughter owl-eyed and contemplative.

Many hours later, Alfred arrived with what appeared to be a reputable doctor. The man, usually strong nerved, was aghast to discover the cause of Catherine's ailment. As he looked to the young girl and the man he assumed was Catherine's husband, something inside him told him to hide the true prognosis. Nothing good would come of informing Alfred Doolittle of his wife's crude abortion. He conjured a lie about the miscarriage being of such a violence that it caused a fast acting infection. It wasn't a complete fallacy. He expressed the unlikelihood of Catherine ever regaining consciousness, but resolved to stay with the family to the end. Perhaps he could stop the bleeding, or bring the fever down.

Catherine never did regain consciousness, and the event was quickly erased from young Eliza's mind.


	3. Staying Good

Eliza Doolittle: The Life and Times of a Good Girl

Chapter Three: Staying Good

Author's note: Sorry about the dreary tone of the last chapter. It will get brighter… just not in this chapter. Warnings for child abuse and allusions to prostitution. Again, I would like to thank my beta. Three chapters proofread in the span of mere hours must be some sort of record.

* * *

**Eight Years Later**

Fifteen year old Eliza Doolittle hefted her passed out father onto the bed with a strength that belied her thin frame. For the hundredth time she swore that no one would ever put her to bed in such a state. No one would ever catch a drop of liquor on her. She tried to imagine someone else begrudgingly removing her boots and making resentful comments on her drunken snores, and shuddered. No sir. Besides the only girls her age that frequented pubs were the bad ones like Maria Stone, and Eliza was no Maria Stone. She prided herself on being a very good sort of girl.

She sighed and looked at her surroundings. Of course, good girls apparently had limited means. She had started selling flowers shortly after her mother had died, when her father had told her she had enough of school and her job now was to see to him. It brought in a little money.

Her eyes rested on the empty birdcage that had been once been her mother's. She remembered the bird that had taken residence in it. It had died shortly after her mother. Strange to think she could remember the bird's death, but not her mother's. It was as if one day she was bidding her mother farewell as she skipped to the school, and then the next clear memory was following the little cart that carried her remains. Surely there had to be an in-between? She had asked her father at the funeral how her mother had died, and he just gave her a queer look and said "You was standing there, gaping at 'er bloody body when we found 'er, you daft girl." That was the last time they had discussed Catherine Doolittle. Eliza had vague memories of her, of course, but nothing really substantial. It was as if Catherine was being slowly scrubbed from Eliza's memory, bit by bit.

"I'm sorry, Cathy…" Her father muttered in his stupor. He often apologized to Catherine when he was passed out in his cups, but Eliza never bothered to ask why.

"S'alright, Alfie, you can't 'urt me where I am," Eliza replied as her mother. She went to the mirror to study herself. Chaotic dark curls, a thin pale face, and large brown eyes. Her body was starting to develop in ways she found fascinating, even if she thought herself wicked to be paying attention to it. About a year ago she was tall, gangly and ever so awkward. Her father had called her a mop with arms. Now from time to time she found him studying her with an almost nostalgic expression on his face.

"All but the 'air and eyes, really," he had muttered once, confusing Eliza greatly.

With a laugh, Eliza stuck her tongue out at her reflection and readied herself for bed. She was a vain thing indeed if she thought she was pretty. What a dirty little ragamuffin it was that stared back at her!

A few days later Alfred Doolittle and his drinking companions noisily interrupted Eliza's sleep with boisterous singing. "Daisy, Daisy…"

She grumbled, slid out of bed and walked to the kitchen , intent on brewing coffee for her father and his friends, as she was always expected to do. Some of them had to be to work in a few hours, and they needed to sober up a bit. Alfred's face lit up when Eliza greeted them.

"There she is! Me daughter, gentlemen," He put an arm around her and pulled her tightly to his side. "The very vision of me bee-yoo-tiful Catherine, but for my dark eyes and 'air, ain't she boys?" The guests shouted in enthusiastic agreement. Bill Wexler even reached over and gave Eliza a hard pinch on the rear, causing her to shriek and pull away from her father. Everyone roared with laughter at her outrage.

"Spirited, too, Alfie!" Cried Bill. Another round of laughter. Alfred pulled her against his side once more, Eliza struggling the entire time. He gave her a hard, open palmed slap on the behind.

"You mind your manners, girl, in front of me friends!" He gave her a charming grin. "Now, wasn't that kind of these gentlemen to ask after your welfare? They've been talkin' all night about 'ow fetching you are, and 'ow desperate they are to get a chance to talk at you, now you talk to 'em. Show 'em that fancy talk your muver showed you, so's they think they are talkin' to a lady of quality."

Eliza blinked in confusion. "Dad, what are you on about?" She looked around nervously at their expectant faces.

"Don't tell me you don't remember! Catherine was always teachin' you lady talk, and these gentlemen want to hear it."

Eliza shook her head. "I don't know what you're talkin' about, Dad, sorry."

He glared at her for a few moments before his face lit up again. "No matter, no matter. Bill 'ere would like to speak to you in private. Take 'im to the back bedroom and be obliging." Eliza saw Bill Wexler hand what looked like a one pound note to Alfred as he crossed the room to Eliza. Warning bells went off in her brain, and she shook her head.

"Dad, I'm tired, me 'ead aches. I don't feel like talkin' tonight. Just let me make your coffee and go back to sleep." She back away from Bill, whose eyes glimmered as he looked over her figure.

"'e just wants to talk, Poppet, that's all." Eliza didn't believe it for a second. Thinking quickly she grabbed the nearest bottle she could get her hands on and smashed it against the side of Bill's head. The man staggered backwards, clutching his wound. With a roar, Alfred crossed the room and grabbed Eliza by the hair of her head, dragging her into bedroom. Eliza's heart beat wildly as she struggled. She had heard about fathers doing awful, unspeakable acts to their own daughters, but never once thought it would ever happen to her.

To her surprise, he merely settled with throwing against the battered armoire face first. Her forehead cracked against the wood and the force of the impact sent her reeling backwards onto the floor. A carpetbag was thrown down onto the floor next to her.

"What're you waitin' for? Pack up! If you don't want to earn a proper livin' around here, then you get out!"

She moaned and clutched her throbbing forehead. He made an impatient noise in the back of his throat, and with a grunt hoisted her up from underneath her arms with such force , she thought they were going to be ripped from their sockets. Somehow she managed to stumble about, grabbing what she could carry. She even gathered the birdcage. She couldn't leave it to him; it was the only beautiful thing in those dreary lodgings.

Avoiding eye contact with the bewildered men, she ran through the front door. Before she could make it down the last step, a forceful kick to her behind sent her flying forward. The landing knocked the wind out of her, but it was the raucous laughter from the men inside her father's home that truly stung. After getting on her feet and setting down her belongings, she turned to the men, spit, and gave them the rudest hand gesture she could think of.

"I 'ope you rot in 'ell, Alfred P. Doolittle! You ruddy brute!" She screamed, before picking up her belongings and leaving. She was walking away very badly bruised, but she was walking away. Melinda Ross was a good friend of her mother's, and would probably put her up for a few nights until she could get on her feet again. It wouldn't take so very long. Eliza was a strong girl. Someone had once told her she was clever to boot. All in all a good combination to make it. Her father could drink himself to death or drown in the Thames for all she cared, it was herself she had to worry about now.

As she suspected, her father approached her a few days later as she was walking out of the florists with her supply of violets. He had his hat in his hands and looked contrite.

"'ullo, Eliza."

"Dad." She nodded and tried to walk past him. He stepped directly in her path.

"Now, now. I just came to apologize for the other night. Gin is a terrible thing, Eliza, terrible." He actually appeared remorseful. Eliza softened a bit. He really wasn't such a bad man. Not when he was sober at least.

"I wanted to ask you to come 'ome, Eliza." She didn't need to think twice about that. It was out of the question. She would be independent from now on, and only see him when he was sober and behaving himself.

"I've got me own 'ome now, thanks. I ain't never comin' back to live with you, Dad." She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a few coins. "But I know what you was gettin' at so 'ere'… For the pub." She gave him a nod, and walked away. This time he didn't try to stop her. Something stayed his hand, and prevented him from dragging her through the streets back to his home. If he were a particularly deep man, he would have guessed it was Catherine.

With a few coins in his purse, and a tune on his lips, Alfred Doolittle headed to the pub; he too felt free. Maybe with Eliza gone, the gut wrenching guilt that he had lived with since Catherine's death would lift. Perhaps he would take a wife!


	4. An Invitation to an Education

Eliza Doolittle: The Life and Times of a Good Girl

Author's note: Thank you Lady Weasleyy and Miss T! Without you ladies, this story would be riddled with repeat words, run on sentences and gross abuse of the comma.

**Eight Years Later and Six Months Before the Embassy Ball.**

Eliza Doolittle thought of her mother for the first time in years. A voice that she took to be Catherine's kept repeating, 'You need your mind to be nurtured.' In the secret place in the back of Eliza's mind , she saw a face not unlike her own, save for golden curls and bright blue eyes standing out brilliantly against a chalky face.

This unlocked memory had played over and over in her head ever since her encounter with Professor Henry Higgins. He had sworn up and down that he could teach her to speak proper. That she could be work in a floral shop, something she had coveted since she was a young girl.

She observed her surroundings while chewing nervously on a thumbnail. A single room squalid and plain. Her father's home had been an improvement on the hovel she had been renting since she was fifteen. Any money she saved from selling her flowers immediately went to food and rent ; the rest was often finagled by her father when he was wanting. Which was often. Nothing left to bring a simple cheer to the room. A proper job could change her outlook immensely.

"I'll go to this bloke tomorrow, I will." She picked up a small tarnished mirror gave her face a once over. "Probably far too dirty for 'is side of town, but I'll be sure to wash me face and 'ands before I go."

A full day later Eliza was shivering in a too-large robe, sitting on a bed far too soft to be her own, in a room so fine she was sure she didn't deserve it. She hadn't meant to cause such a spectacle during her the bath. The moment Eliza had realized what she was supposed to do in order to take a bath, her mother's face appeared again urging her, 'Be wary. Be good.' Letting others see her naked was not what good girls did, even if they had been females. Eliza didn't even own a mirror that showed her from the neck down, and she had always made it a point to dress herself with her eyes straight ahead.

It turned out that Eliza rather liked taking a bath, and once the maids managed to deposit her into the tub and Mrs. Pearce had explained how to use the strange thing called a 'scrub brush' she was left alone. Her hysterics had been for nothing, and she had felt rather guilty for blackening one of their eyes.

Mrs. Pearce entered the room carrying a neatly folded stack of clothing. "These belong to one of our maids. You both seem to be the same size, and hopefully they will suit until we get you fitted for new ones." The woman gave Eliza a disapproving look. "Heavens girl! Don't you know how to use the hair brush on your vanity table?"

Eliza bristled with stung pride. "'Course I do! I just 'aven't gotten to it yet."

"Well, dinner will be served shortly and you don't want to keep the gentlemen waiting. Go over there and sit down, I will fix it up for you myself." Mrs. Pearce gestured to the vanity table. Eliza reluctantly obeyed, it had been a long time since another person had done her hair for her.

Mrs. Pearce conducted her business in silence, and Eliza did not mind in the least. The woman despised her for sure, Eliza thought. No one in this house seemed to like her, except for the excellent Colonel Pickering. It didn't matter much to Eliza. She didn't come to 27A Wimpole Street to be liked, after all. She was there to become a lady, and the devil take the hindmost!

"There you are, girl." Mrs. Pickering soothed a few errant strands of Eliza's hair and smiled. "My word, what a difference a bath and a brushing makes; you certainly look like a good young lady."

Despite her resolve not to care for the opinions of Mrs. Pearce or anyone else, Eliza felt a surge of warmth at the old woman's words.

The old biddy certainly knew how to do hair! It was swept up far more elegantly than Eliza had ever managed style it, and the white satin bow in the back was sweet. "Thank you," Eliza whispered tearfully, inwardly cursing herself for being emotional over something as bloody foolish as hair.

Mrs. Pearce patted Eliza's shoulder awkwardly. "Now get dressed and head downstairs straightaway, girl." With that, Eliza was left alone once again.

Clean clothes! Eliza wanted to sing with jubilation. Cotton under things; a black wool skirt; a white shirt that buttoned primly to her chin, Eliza was in heaven. She felt a bit naughty for lifting her skirts ever so slightly to admire her legs, sheathed in black stocking that bore no holes, and black ankle boots that weren't scuffed or ready for the dust bin. With a delighted laugh she ran out the bedroom door and down the stairs to join the others in the dining room.

"What the devil was all that damn stomping for?" Professor Higgins asked in an irritated tone that immediately killed Eliza's joy.

"That was just me comin' down the apples and pears," she retorted. Pickering laughed at the slang before getting up and crossing the room to pull out a chair for her. She grinned at him.

"Thanks, Captain."

"Colonel Pickering, is how you ought to address him, Eliza."

"Thanks, Colonel Pickerin'."

"Thank you, Eliza," The Professor corrected.

Eliza gave Higgins a quizzical look. "What're you thankin' me for?" Her confusion deepened when he pinched the bridge of his noise and winced as if in pain.

"Nothing, absolutely nothing."

Dinner was served. Eliza had never seen such appetizing food before in her life, and she tore into her plate as if it were the last meal she was ever going to receive. Even the water tasted better! They had offered her wine earlier, but she steadfastly refused it.

Somehow, Eliza felt as though she were being observed while she ate. It was almost enough to make her slow down and take notice, but she had not eaten in close to a full day, save for the bon-bon the Professor had given her earlier. Eliza did feel a little ashamed, though, when she couldn't suppress the belch that followed the meal. Even she knew that was the antithesis of 'ladylike'. She looked from face to astonished face after it had happened.

The Professor threw down his napkin and sat back in his chair. "Well that is that. She is not to eat another crumb in this house until she can do it properly."

Eliza wished the floor beneath her would open up and swallow her. "I'm sorry. I ain't eaten so fine in me life, and I got carried away." She stood up and attempted to take her leave.

"You wait just one moment!"

Eliza paused at the door and looked back at The Professor. "What?"

"You rude little ignoramus, don't say 'what', say 'pardon'."

Eliza squared her shoulders and resisted the urge to scream. "Pardon?"

"When you get up to leave the table before your betters, you must beg your leave. Give an excuse, you know." Higgins affected a high pitched tone, "Pardon me gentlemen, but my head aches so, and I must ask that you excuse me while I have a lie down." He frowned at her, "Something like to that effect. Don't just flee the table like a thief in the night."

Eliza sighed impatiently. "'scuse me, gents, but I've got a pain in me 'ead fit to split it in two." She gave them what she thought to be a grand curtsey. "Please let me go to me room to wallow in me misery." With that, she flounced from the dining room, not caring whether her hasty retreat up to the bedroom caused Henry Higgins's head to pound.

Hugh Pickering gave a delighted chuckle once Eliza had left the two men alone. "I say, Higgins, I admire that girl's pluck!"

Henry just shook his head with a weary moan. "She's a damned mess, Pickering. A paragon of ignorance if ever I saw."

Pickering grinned at his newfound friend. "Oh, I don't believe so. I sense a real intelligence behind those remarkable eyes. I also find that she is astonishingly easy to look at now that the grime is gone from her face."

Henry agreed, but not aloud. There was something disturbingly familiar about Eliza's arresting features. They conjured memories of a person he had long since ceased to think about, someone he had tried like hell to purge from his mind. He found he resented Eliza for the fact.

"Put a pretty dress on an ape and it's still an ape," he retorted cruelly.


	5. Dressing Eliza

Eliza Doolittle: The Life and Times of a Good Girl

Chapter Five: Dressing Eliza

Disclaimer: Please don't assume by my negligence in posting these that I think I own "My Fair Lady". I truly don't, and I'm not making any money off of this silly story. It was just the plot bunny from hell and I had to sort it out.

Author's note: Huge thanks to my beta, the incomparable Lady Weasleyy, and my creative consultant Miss T. You ladies are invaluable in the battle against the semi-colon.

* * *

Hugh Pickering was a man who had seen love , and then promptly lost it. In his younger days while stationed in India, he had had the immense pleasure of making the acquaintance of the most beautiful woman in existence. Her name was Amita Singh, and she was the daughter of a local carpenter.

Their love affair had been frustratingly brief, and had produced one child; a girl that Hugh had named Anne. Amita hadn't the opportunity to protest the English name of her daughter; she died shortly after the birth.

Hugh hadn't time to mourn his love; Anne was now the center of his universe, and like any doting father, Hugh indulged her every whim. It didn't seem possible to deny her anything. Before long, Hugh Pickering had a tiny tyrant on his hands.

Anne Pickering, at age four, was allowed to sit at the grown-up table during even the most important dinners. While Hugh and his companions talked politics and conquest, Anne sat on her father's lap, ate from his plate, and sipped from his wine glass when no one was paying attention. Anne bullied the servants, and dressed in party clothes to play in the mud. When anyone had the temerity to say 'no' to her, she would square her little shoulders, throw back her head , and let loose a most impressive scream that would put a Wagnerian diva to shame.

Despite the child's deep personality flaws , Hugh adored her. He loved every tantrum , every tear. She was Amita reborn, and he had loved Amita deeply.

When Anne succumbed to cholera it had nearly killed him.

Now Pickering was back in England as a confirmed old bachelor. He did not share Higgins's disdain for all things female; In fact, he absolutely adored women. It was true he would never love another as deeply as he had loved Amita. He felt he was too old for such an indulgence, but he did enjoy their platonic company immensely.

Eliza Doolittle was a woman he felt compelled to spoil. She had a way about her that made Pickering very happy to be alive. Her accent and mannerisms were horrible , there was no doubt about that, but there was a certain charm about her unpolished ways. As he squired her from shop to shop, he delighted in Eliza's wonder at things he had previously took for mundane. A new pair of shoes were enough to bring about an excited flush to her cheeks. Therefore, he purchased ten pairs. When Eliza told him she had no idea what her favorite color was, he made sure she had a gown in every shade available. None of the shop girls seemed to question the very old man taking his young companion on a spree, and Pickering felt a lift of pride when one of the girls complimented him on his lovely daughter.

At the end of the day, Eliza had such an extensive array of new clothes that it took several trips to bring it all back to 27A.

"What a monstrous waste of money, Pickering. I daresay half of that would've sufficed," Higgins commented as the maids scurried up and down the stairs , their arms laden with parcel after parcel.

Pickering smiled, "Eliza's such a dear little thing. You weren't there to see her face; everything little thing delighted her."

"My god, man. Are you in love with the little guttersnipe?"

Pickering shook his head. "No, it's nothing like that. She reminds me of somebody that was once--is still very dear to me." From his front pocket he produced a miniature portrait of Anne, he reluctantly handed it to Higgins to study.

"A child, Pickering?"

Pickering took the miniature from Higgins and put it back in his pocket. "My daughter, Anne. Cholera took her about thirty years ago. Her mother died during childbirth."

"Ah."

While the gentlemen had their very grave discussion downstairs, Eliza was unpacking her new wardrobe with Mrs. Pearce and the maids.

"I ain't never seen so many clothes in me life!" Eliza exclaimed while neatly lining up her shoes. "I ain't done nuffin' to deserve it either."

"The Colonel certainly has taken a shine to you," Mrs. Pearce observed. Eliza fell silent, an odd expression on her face. "What is it girl?"

"You don't suppose 'e's gonna want me to pay 'im back for all this? I don't know where I'd start!" Eliza's pressed her lips together into a worried line and sat down on the edge of the bed. "What if it don't work? What if I really am an ignorant girl? I ain't been to school since I was seven years old." Eliza breathing hitched, "'Ow am I gonna pay 'im if I go right back to sellin' me flowers by the curb?" Eliza knew she was ruining one of the happiest days of her young life with incessant worrying, but it came naturally to her. She looked to Mrs. Pearce for some sort of validation. The old woman only appeared to be very uncomfortable.

"Don't carry on so, Miss Doolittle; you have plenty of time to think of your future." Mrs. Pearce handed Eliza a handkerchief to blot at the tears in her eyes.

"You called me 'Miss Doolittle'. Makes me feel like I was a lady already." Eliza laughed at her own statement. "'Miss Doolittle', indeed."

"MRS. PEARCE!" Eliza was so startled by the booming call of Professor Higgins that she fell off the edge of the bed, landing in an undignified heap on the floor. She heard footsteps running up the stairs, and then a knock on her bedroom door. Mrs. Pearce crossed the room and opened it a crack. It was Professor Higgins.

"You tell that vain little imbecile that if she is not downstairs in one minute to begin her lessons, I shall drag her down by her hair."

"Of course, sir." Mrs. Pearce closed the door and turned to Eliza. "You heard him, I suppose." Eliza nodded, and headed downstairs without a word.

"Ah, here she is! How are you enjoying your new things, Miss Doolittle?" Pickering inquired.

"Everythin' is so beyootiful, Colonel! I don't think I'll 'ave enough days in the year to wear it all!" Eliza gushed. Pickering laughed heartily at her unguarded enthusiasm.

Higgins gave a derisive snort. "Sit down you ridiculous girl. We've less than six months to turn you out on proper society, and if we want to make any progress, you need to keep your silly head in the books and worry less about frocks and fripperies…"

Author's note: I realize this is short even by my standards, but once I covered with the chapter title promised I felt there was nothing more to add to it.


	6. Mental Blocks

Eliza Doolittle: The Life and Times of a Good Girl

Chapter Six: Mental Blocks

Author's note: Big, big thanks to my dearest beta, Lady Weasleyy, who still finds time to muck through my crappy grammar even though she has finals! Thank you, and stay in school or else you become a functioning illiterate like me.

Disclaimer: I disclaim. One portion of dialogue is lifted directly from the show. I believe you know which one it is.

On a side note: Reviews are VERY appreciated. They let me know how I am doing, or how I may improve.

* * *

Two days into the experiment, Eliza contemplated quitting 27A Wimpole street. It seemed that no matter how hard she tried, Eliza was doomed to fail. Professor Higgins was a harsh task-master who required Eliza to be at lessons from sun up to sun down, and sometimes even longer than that.

Eliza couldn't even escape the lessons in her dreams! The moment she faded into a restful slumber-- there stood the Professor, towering over her at an unreal height, wielding a great gleaming sword in one hand, and a book on the phonetic alphabet in the other. The Professor would throw the book at Eliza, ordering her to read out loud in the manner of a lady. The penalty for not performing this task to perfection was death. Her head would be chopped off and then set on a pike in front of 27A Wimpole street as a warning to others who may be as foolhardy as she. When her eyes fell on the open page, she was horrified to discover that she was staring at a blank page! She turned her head to the sound of retreating footsteps, and watched with a sinking feeling as the letters of the phonetic alphabet scurried away into the distance.

" As your Lord and savior, I order you to read from that page!" Professor Higgins' voice boomed.

Eliza opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Professor Higgins shook his head at her mute state, lifted his sword and began to bring it down upon her head.

Eliza would wake from those dreams to find she had not lost her voice. That first night when she woke screaming, the house erupted in chaos. Before she could register that it had been only a dream, her bedroom door flew open; Colonel Pickering and Professor Higgins came rushing in both in their night wear, the former brandishing a pistol, the latter a fire poker.

"Where the devil is the bastard?" Higgins swore.

The Colonel and the Professor looked about the room, and upon finding no sign of intrusion, their eyes fell upon Eliza, stricken dumb with terror.

"Why the hell did you scream?" Asked Higgins.

Eliza swallowed the lump in her throat and replied meekly, "I 'ad a nightmare." Pickering made a sympathetic noise.

Higgins rolled his eyes. "Well, the next time you meet whatever unholy terror is haunting you in the land of Nod , tell the beast that there is a household you belong to that needs their good nights rest. Good lord, we thought you were being--"

"Robbed," Pickering finished. He eyed Higgins warily. "Think on her sensibilities, Higgins," the older man whispered.

"Yes, robbed. Well, if it's only been a silly dream; I suppose this is where we say 'goodnight'." Higgins walked out of the room.

Pickering smiled sadly at the girl. "There, there Miss Doolittle. Whatever it was, it can't hurt you any longer. Goodnight."

Eliza sat alone in her room, unable to will herself to fall back asleep.

The next morning, Eliza ran into Higgins's study preparing to berate him over the lesson plan. She was sleep deprived, cranky , and ready for a fight. Her heart nearly stopped when she beheld her father having a discussion with the Professor. A long forgotten terror awoke within her. He knew Eliza was taking lessons; She was going to learn how to speak 'fancy'. Her father was about to do something terrible.

Alfred hadn't even recognized Eliza initially. He even begged her pardon as they had almost collided in her haste to get to Higgins. When he realized that he was in the presence of his daughter he was all charm; He boasted about what a credit she was to him. He took his leave shortly, but not without giving his daughter a stinging slap on her behind and encouraging the Professor to follow his example.

When Eliza realized her father was not going to do her a real harm, she childishly stuck out her tongue at him as he left. Eliza did not care if she never saw her father again. Higgins spouted some nonsense about morals, then promptly began drilling her on her vowels.

As the weeks progressed, Eliza felt that something was holding her back. She heard the way the words flowed from the Professor's mouth, and her brain registered them as correct, but every time she set out to repeat them, a blackness fell over her mind and the words came out wrong. This hurdle did not mean she wasn't having very small victories. H's now no longer eluded her, and with Pickering's help, she was slowly affecting a ladylike poise.

"I do wish you would stop looking behind you as though someone was going to jump out and slit your throat," Higgins complained as Pickering was leading her about the study on his arm. "What is it about success that terrifies you so? Every time you do something correct you turn pale as a ghost."

"Higgins, be gentle. Isn't it enough that she is doing it right?" Pickering defended.

"No, dash it all, she's got to make it look effortless!" Higgins crossed the room and motioned for Pickering to stand aside. He offered his arm to Eliza.

"Eliza, I once knew a woman who seemed to glide about the floor as if she were floating. She wasn't a woman of quality so to speak, but a mere ladies maid. Imagine if you will, a woman only a few rungs higher than yourself in society, whose very existence required nothing more than holding my mothers yarn and fixing hair. Yet, she carried herself like a duchess. If a little nothing of a domestic can do it, than so can you."

Higgins's words struck a familiar chord. Eliza mind was filled with images of a golden-haired woman gliding about a dingy kitchen in the manner Higgins described. "_Try again, Eliza. I know you'll get it right, love." _Her mother's sweet feminine voice urged.

Eliza got it right.

_The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain_. It was the most hateful phrase Eliza had ever heard in her life. It was a phrase she had been forced to repeat a multitude of times over the course of two days. It was the first thing she said every morning, and the last thing she said at night. For the life of her, she could not say it in a way that pleased Higgins.

It was three in the morning and Eliza's head ached with such a fierceness that she feared she was going to be sick all over the couch. Her body positively hummed with exhaustion, and there was no end in sight. Eliza regarded Higgins with bleary eyes, and contemplated throwing herself on her knees and begging him to allow her to sleep, with promises that tomorrow, she would get it perfectly. She found herself too tired to entertain that thought any further, and with a groan, repeated the phrase to no avail. A crying jag loomed on the horizon.

She gave a start when Higgins handed her the cold compress and then began that speech.

"I know your head aches; I know you're tired; I know your nerves are as raw as meat in a butcher's window. But think what you're trying to accomplish. Think what you're dealing with. The majesty and grandeur of the English language, it's the greatest possession we have. The noblest thoughts that ever flowed through the hearts of men are contained in its extraordinary, imaginative, and musical mixtures of sounds. And that's what you've set yourself out to conquer Eliza. And conquer it you will." Higgins had locked his eyes on her for the entire speech, and Eliza felt a heat creep up to her face. Beneath his pompous and bullying demeanor, there was a man who was truly passionate about his life's work. Eliza was no longer afraid of success.

In a tremulous voice Eliza spoke the words that had been plaguing her for days on end, and she did it like a lady. Something sparked within her when Higgins smiled proudly at her. The spark became a full flame when he danced victoriously with her.


	7. Love Tokens

Eliza Doolittle: The Life and Times of a Good Girl

Chapter Seven: Love Tokens

Disclaimer: Not making any money out of this little flight of fancy.

Author's note: Honk if you adore you beta! *beep beep*

* * *

Colonel Pickering prided himself on being a perceptive sort of man, and something was amiss. The mood of 27A Wimpole street had gone decidedly sour. Not that it had ever been of a peaceful sort of cheer, mind you. His good friends, Eliza and Higgins were always battling over something or other, voices raised, wits sharpened and the like. But now-- nothing. A week after the disastrous Ascot affair it seemed the two of them had become extremely uneasy in one another's company.

If he had to pinpoint an exact moment, it would have had to been the morning where they were all having breakfast, and a letter had come addressed to Eliza from Freddy Eynesford-Hill. This was usually an occasion of great mirth of Higgins's part. Ordinarily, he would playfully ripped the missive from Eliza's hands and treat the table to its contents, with poor Eliza blushing and sputtering furiously on her end of the table. Not so that day. Pickering could have sworn he saw Higgins narrow his eyes in Eliza's direction.

"Well, let's hear it then," Pickering insisted.

Higgins directed his glared towards him. "Can't you see it's none of your damned business?" He growled.

Pickering scarcely had time to register his astonishment at the outburst before Eliza abruptly stood. Always the gentleman, Pickering rose from his seat as well. Higgins, as per usual, stayed in his seat.

"Excuse me, I am feeling unwell," she whispered, before leaving the pair to an awkward silence.

"Well, I'll be dashed. You don't suppose our little lovers are having a row?" Pickering asked once Eliza was out of earshot. He could've been knocked over with a feather when Higgins threw down his napkin quite violently, and stood up.

"I've lost my damned appetite," he grumbled before taking his leave as well.

"I'll be dashed," Pickering repeated to no one in particular.

Yes, if had to pinpoint a moment, it would've been that one. It was all very confusing and unsettling. He had to do something about it. Shake things up a bit, perhaps. Running ideas in his head, he walked into the drawing room where Higgins was tersely drilling Eliza on various titles of royalty. The poor girl looked ready to burst into tears, and Higgins was being quite unmerciful.

Pickering cleared his throat. Higgins shot him a look of annoyance, Eliza, one of relief.

"Higgins, I've just had a capitol idea! Why don't we take a little trip to Brighton? The weather is beautiful, and perhaps the concept of sea bathing would be quite novel to Miss Doolittle." He felt a stab of pride when he noticed Eliza's features light up at the prospect. Higgins frowned.

"Can't you see we have limited time to turn out this insect to proper society? What's all this nonsense about Brighton? Do you think she deserves a holiday?" Higgins presented his questions in one rapid stream of dialogue, ignoring the crestfallen look on Eliza's face.

"Oh, Higgins, you can't still be talking about that business at Ascot. That was merely a slip-up. I think she deserves a little break. You've been divine, my dear," he addressed Eliza at the last bit. She smiled charmingly. Higgins caught the smile and his frown deepened.

"I see her charm has worked on you, Pickering. I suppose I can't fight you both. Let's arrange a trip to bloody Brighton. Why not bring Mother in on this fool's errand as well? She's always queuing up to sea-bathe, damn her." Higgins stormed out of the room, shouting for Mrs. Pearce to make the proper arrangements.

Pickering smiled at Eliza. "Well, aren't you excited, my dear? I daresay we will have to get you a bathing suit and slippers before we go." He noticed Eliza bite her lip. "What is it, Miss Doolittle?"

"Oh it's nothing, Colonel Pickering except that… well I've never been sea bathing. I don't know how to swim."

Pickering chuckled. "Oh, it's nothing to fret about, I am sure you will enjoy it." Her apprehensive look did not lift. "My dear?"

"Oh, Colonel, don't fret about me. It's just that I've been bloaters before and it isn't pretty."

_Bloaters_? "Oh! No, I assure you, Miss Doolittle, the proper precautions will be taken to ensure that you won't drown." He sat beside her and patted her hand reassuringly. "Come now, you've earned a little holiday, and despite what Higgins may say, I know he agrees deep down. Now, let's get a taxi arranged for you so that you may get your first bathing suit." He assisted her to her feet, offered her his arm and the two of them went off to the business of shopping.

"I'm not coming out!" Eliza cried. She stood shivering in the changing hut, despite the weather being quite warm. The suit had seemed alright when she had purchased it, but now--there were men out there on the beach! She had heard a rumor long ago that men and women sea bathed at different times at the beach, and that wooden contraptions with wheels squired a lady to the water, where they could bathe in privacy. She expressed this assumption to Mrs. Higgins, who patiently waited outside the hut.

The old woman laughed. "Oh Eliza, that is so old-fashioned!" Eliza frowned at that statement. Professor Higgins' elderly mother was calling her old-fashioned?

"They will see my legs!" Eliza bemoaned.

This statement sent Mrs. Higgins into gales of laughter. "Darling, hardly! No one is really going to see anything but the bare skin of your arms. Come now, I want to get to the water."

Reluctantly, Eliza stepped out onto the beach. She was wearing a lovely bathing suit of pale pink with red piping. The neckline was square, and the hem fell just below her knees which were sheathed in black stockings. The pink slippers matched the suit, and her dark hair was bundled up under a fetching pink cap. She was blushing furiously.

"Oh how charming, Eliza! I praise the day those shapeless monstrosities were traded in for pretty bathing clothes," Mrs. Higgins praised warmly. "I am quite envious that we did not have such fine examples when I was a girl your age. Now I am too old to look well in them." Her own suit was a periwinkle blue.

"I think you look very well, Mrs. Higgins," replied Eliza with a small smile.

"Tosh, Eliza!"

The two women strolled about the beach, parasols protecting their faces from the sun. Eliza noticed Mrs. Higgins waving at someone, and her blush returned full force when she spotted Professor Higgins and Colonel Pickering standing in the water.

"What charming bathing suits these young people are wearing nowadays," Pickering mused.

Henry felt at a loss for words. He scoffed at Eliza's visible prudery, the suit didn't reveal much, but she was a vision in it, and he willed himself not to gawk at her legs.

"Yes, I suppose the suits will become gradually more daring throughout the years until the damned coquettes will go starkers." Pickering sputtered a bit at Higgins' prediction, causing Higgins to grin wickedly. He did enjoy shocking people with his manner of speech.

"Henry, Colonel, how are you enjoying this weather?' Mrs. Higgins inquired, giving her son a peck on the cheek.

"You know I hate sea-bathing. This suit makes me look like convict," Higgins grumbled, referring to the black and white stripes of his suit. He noticed that Eliza was trying quite hard to avoid making eye contact. "And how are you enjoying your first trip to the beach, Eliza? Has your bathing suit caused any riots yet?"

Eliza's deep brown eyes met his and narrowed. "I wouldn't know, pray don't think that I came here to attract male attention. I am merely here for the health benefits. Good day." With that, she turned and walked away, not waiting for Mrs. Higgins to join her.

"Henry, I wish you wouldn't bait the girl so. She's not mature enough not to rise to the occasion," Mrs. Higgins scolded before following the girl.

"She may be right, Higgins. What would happen if you were to push her too far? What would you do without her?" Pickering questioned. Higgins kicked the water in irritation.

"Exactly what I was doing before she intruded on my life," he replied stormily.

Pickering shook his head. "I think I've grown tired of sea-bathing, Higgins. I think I have a need to do some light shopping-- tell me, does Eliza own any jewelry?"

Henry glared at him. "How the devil should I know?"

"I think a ring would be lovely on her finger, don't you? Maybe a token of appreciation?"

"Hell! Don't you waste your pension on her wardrobe as it is?"

Pickering shrugged. "I suppose you're right. But I did notice her admiring a certain ring in a shop near the pier. She had such a lovely look of longing on her face, that I was almost compelled to purchase it for her right then and there." He breathed a heavy sigh. "Well, I'm off. Perhaps I can find a clever hat while we are here." He headed for a changing hut.

"Wait! I will go with you, you can show me that bloody ring, and be done with this whole 'token' business."

Later that evening, the quartet settled down for dinner at an exquisitely decorated restaurant. Eliza and Mrs. Higgins wore pale-green and lavender evening gowns respectively, and Pickering was full of compliments for the pair. Henry was fidgety. The dinner passed amiably, despite Henry's strange behavior. Eliza even managed to smile at him, willing to forget the rough way he had spoken to her earlier at the beach. He seemed to want to look everywhere but her face. To put it plainly, the way she had behaved at the beach.

After the dinner, the four of them headed out, intent on catching the rail back to London. To Eliza's astonishment, Pickering chose to escort Mrs. Higgins, and the two of them walked ahead, their pace oddly hurried. She looked up at Higgins and he offered his arm, which she hesitantly took.

"Eliza, I have something for you," Henry explained, bringing their progress to a halt. He reached inside his coat pocket and produced a small velvet box. He unceremoniously shoved handed it to her, nearly dropping it in the process.

Eliza treated him to a quizzical glance before opening the box. Nestled in velvet was a small gold ring. A delicate looking pearl was set in the middle. It was simple. It was… It was…

"I can't take this from you!" Eliza cried, handing it back to him with such a haste it appeared the object had scalded her. Tears sprung to her eyes, and she stifled a sob. Sensing a scene, Henry pulled her into an obliging alley to calm her down. This act seemed only to frighten her. She opened her mouth to scream, only to be stifled by Henry's hand over it.

"Good heavens, Eliza, what is the matter?" Dash it all, she was trembling! "If you absolutely abhor the wretched thing, I can exchange it for another! Only Pickering was going on and on about how you were mooning over it, and I thought buying it would shut him up!"

Eliza's trembling ceased at once, as did her tears. Henry removed his hand. "T-truly?" She asked in a tremulous voice.

"It's…it's sort of a 'job well done' sort of thing, Eliza. What did you think it was? Did you think I was proposing? Usually a diamond is apropos for that sort of thing." Eliza shook her head. "Well what then?"

"It's nothing, Professor Higgins," she replied quickly, eyes glued to the ground. Realization dawned on him.

"Why you damned silly girl! Do you think so little of me? Do you really think I would shower you with presents in exchange for-- for a good girl, you certainly have wicked thoughts floating about your head!"

"May I have my ring back please?"

Henry roared with laughter. "Here is your stupid ring, you silly girl. Now let us hurry before we miss the train entirely." They emerged , Henry still chuckling. He didn't notice the incredulous look from bystanders, shocked to see a well dressed couple stepping out from the dark alley. Eliza noticed, and attempted to avoid the curious gazes.


	8. Henry Higgins' Head

Chapter Eight: Henry Higgins's Head

Author's note: Three cheers for a mass update! Undoubtedly, my beta should be studying, but she is fixing my mistakes instead. Let's hear it for Lady Weasleyy!

* * *

That damned pup! Couldn't he be arrested for loitering? Henry Higgins was not pleased. There was a farce playing out in front of his eyes, and it was threatening to tear his carefully constructed composure to shreds. Every night, Freddy Eynsford-Hill would be outside of 27A, leaning against a lamp post, staring up into Eliza's bedroom window with an idiotic hang dog expression on his face. The only pleasure Henry got from the mess, was that Eliza steadfastly refused to give in to such romantic nonsense. Henry knew this as a fact, because he would stay up long into the night, watching Freddy, waiting for Eliza to come running into the boy's eager arms. She never did.

"That's my girl," Henry thought, proudly. He promptly cursed himself for referring to Eliza as his girl. She was most assuredly not his, and he was too damned old to entertain such notions.

If only she had been twenty-two back when Henry was young and foolish. He had written sheets and sheets for one particular woman. A woman he would have gladly killed for, until she had bitterly disappointed him. It pained him even now to think how quickly he had kicked that woman's pedestal from under her. She probably didn't even know she had been standing on one. If only Eliza could've been there in that woman's stead. Eliza would have appreciated the moronically romantic Henry of yore. He wagered that she would not even be able to recognize him. No matter. Henry was who he was now, and it was too late in the game to change.

Still, he couldn't help but feel that evil demon called Jealousy as he observed his rivals' youth. What was the matter with Eliza, that she wasn't throwing herself at such external beauty? Didn't young, silly things tend to gravitate towards other young, silly things?

If she were truly silly, you wouldn't be up right now, agonizing over that inferior boy. Henry's conscience had a point. He had long ceased thinking of Eliza as the ignoramus she'd once seemed. Frankly, Henry was in awe of Eliza. Her rough speech truly belied the formidable strength of her mind. Once Henry had succeeded in tearing away whatever had been holding Eliza back, the rest had flown from her like a river undammed. She had stumbled during Ascot, but that was not the end of world. Henry had been thoroughly amused by the incident, despite himself. Eliza had not been amused, but she had recovered from her mortification quite beautifully. Henry recalled , with a smile, the evening after the Ascot affair.

During dinner that night, Pickering had been swearing up and down that the experiment was over, and Eliza was pale and wane. Henry skillfully pretended that he could not hear a word Pickering was saying. Eventually, the older man's protests got quite tiresome. Henry set his knife and fork down with a sigh, and turned to Eliza.

"_And what of you, Eliza? Are you ready to give up everything we've worked for because of one slip-up_?" Her eyes met his. For the first time, he noticed how exhausted she appeared. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, contrasting startlingly with the white pallor of her face. Henry began to feel just a little bit ashamed of himself for how hard he had been driving the girl. The guilt faded when it occurred to him that, although her body was tired, her eyes were burning with a determined fire that matched his own.

Wordlessly, Henry reached over the table, took one of Eliza's delicate hands and squeezed it gently. "_No. I daresay we shall continue, Pickering_," Henry spoke, his gaze never averting from Eliza's. They were true allies at last.

At least, they had been united in their effort until that blasted Freddy Eynsford-Hill and his foolish letter. The incident had aroused dark feelings within Henry, and he abhorred having jealousy imposed upon him. Freddy's early nonsensical verses had been nothing more than an amusement. They were non-threatening to Henry's world. Nothing more than the ramblings of a child trying to reach far above his grasp. But _that_ letter.

Henry truly felt that Eliza's sincere naiveté had prevented him from doing something they both would regret that night. Never mind her willingness to succumb to his possessiveness, it should not have progressed that far. Eliza was truly a good girl, and he would have only frightened her with the reality of what he had wanted to do to her. He would have showed her the things Freddy promised in that letter, and he would have done it with a skill befitting his age and experience.

That ridiculous expression on Eliza's face as she waited for Henry's kisses! Denying his primal urges in regards to her had been a good decision. He had been a fool to believe her anything but chaste and pure. Callous as Henry could be, he could not be a destroyer of innocence. Eliza deserved so much more.

Henry realized he was quite tired. The next day would be hectic, as the night would bring the Embassy Ball. He shot one final glare at Freddy Eynsford-Hill before retiring.

Henry was always devilishly uncomfortable in evening wear. He wanted his old trousers and jumper, not the restricting black strait-jacket that fools referred to as 'fashionable'. Pickering was in top erratic form, flitting about with a never-ending tumbler of port in his hand. Henry must have turned down an offering of spirits at least three times during the past half hour.

Finally, Eliza appeared at the top of the stairs. Henry held his breath as she descended. His creation, floating down the stairs on wings he had meticulously constructed for her over the past half year. She was truly magnificent. A vision of womanhood.

He would have that glass of port after all.


	9. Back at the Beginning

Chapter Nine: Back at the Beginning

Author's note: One more and that's the end of the mass update extravaganza!

* * *

"I washed me face and 'ands before I come, I did." God, I hope he can't hear my heart beating. She smiled when she saw him give a start, and she could have sworn she heard him whisper her name.

"Where the devil are my slippers?" Ah, it was to be like that, was it? She would see about that.

Maintaining her regal composure, she stepped directly behind the chair he was slumped in and gently placed her hands on his shoulders.

"Goodness, Professor, can you keep track of any of your belongings? Perhaps you should trace the path they made when I threw them at your head." He lifted his head to look up at her, his face obscured by his hat. She removed the hat, so she could better see his expression. To her dismay, his eyes were narrowed, and his face set in a familiar frown. It was enough to wipe the serene expression from her face.

"What ever are you doing back here?" He inquired, his tone cold and detached.

She backed away from the chair, defiantly lifting her chin. "I just wanted you to know that I've reconsidered Freddy's proposal. I will not be marrying him." She held her breath, waiting for his response.

"Oh? Well, what of it? Why the devil should I care who you do or do not marry?" He inquired, his back still turned to her. "If you can do without me, then why are you here, informing me of a decision that does not concern me in the slightest? Go live with your father, undoubtedly he is well-off enough to see to your welfare."

The very mention of living with her father again set a wild fear in Eliza's heart. She resisted the urge to tip the chair over, living contents and all, and rail at Henry for making such a suggestion. Somehow she managed to stay composed. "Yes, I suppose my father would be the very person to find me a husband, well connected that he is now. Perhaps Charlie Gibbs. He drives his own taxi, you know. I hear he's been widowed twice--but perhaps that was a mercy. His wives, they say, were so disagreeable that he was obliged to beat them mercilessly every day. But he is a self-made man, and that shows good character."

Henry rose from his seat so violently that it gave Eliza a start. With a growl of frustration, he crossed over to the fireplace, and stared at the grate, one hand clutching the mantle so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He was clearly attempting to not rise to her bait.

With a smile, she coldly continued. "Or perhaps Bill Wexler. He is a dustman, like my father once was. I can tell he is attracted to me. Did you know that once he paid my father one pound, just so he could take me to the back bedroom and talk to me in private? That was years ago, but I am sure his ardor hasn't waned a bit." She was revealing too much of her shameful past, but she didn't care. "Of course, I was such a shy thing back then that I responded by breaking a bottle over his head." She gave an airy laugh. "Oh. the beating I received for that little stunt! I was thrown out into the world with a boot print on my arse shortly after… but you are right, perhaps I should go back to my father's. Farewell again, old friend."

Now he was trembling with rage. Eliza gave him a nod that he couldn't see, and began heading for the front door once again. He was upon her in four quick strides, grasping a hand and pulling her to him. As a result, her face collided with his chest, and his arms closed about her, keeping her awkwardly smothered against him.

"Damn it, don't leave." Henry whispered hoarsely against her hair. He loosened his hold on her slightly to allow her room to lift head up. He was staring down at her, his expression unreadable.

They stayed like that for a long time before the sound of footsteps heading for the room caused him to push her away gently. They hastily gained their composure before Mrs. Pearce entered.

"A Mr. Freddy Eynsford-Hill to see you sir. The young man is frantic." Mrs. Pearce's face lit up when she saw Eliza, but she said nothing.

"Send him away! I've no time for the impudent pup," Henry replied tersely.

"Oh, I told him you weren't likely to want to receive him, but he is insistent. He said something about Miss Doolittle possibly 'doing herself in', and felt he ought to see you about it."

Henry turned to Eliza with a frown. "Eliza, you haven't 'done yourself in', have you?" His tone was joking. Eliza merely shook her head, and began a hasty retreat to the nearest adjoining room. "Where the hell do you think you are going?"

"He wants to see you," she replied without a backwards glance.

She heard him declare her 'a damned coward' as she closed the door behind her.

Henry Higgins was not a happy man. He had been happy moments before when she walked mercifully back into his life, and he had nearly buggered that up with his foolish pride.

He was quite sure he would have kissed the silly girl, something he had inexplicably wanted to do for quite some time, had Mrs. Pearce not interrupted them with news of Freddy Eynsford-Hill's arrival. Now he was face-to-face with his young rival, and the stupid pup was whimpering pitifully.

"Please sir, tell me you've seen her!" The boys hands were clasped together and raised in a pleading gesture.

"Seen whom, boy?" He enjoyed putting a sneering emphasis on the word.

Freddy either ignored the insult, or it had failed to register in his brain. "My beloved Eliza," he replied.

"I have seen Miss Doolittle, now that you mention it. She came running into this room mere minutes before you arrived, intent on giving you the slip. She can't stand you, apparently." Now Henry was being petty and childish, but he simply didn't care.

Freddy sputtered with disbelief. "Preposterous, sir! She agreed to be my wife; Mother and I were expecting her at my home ages ago to begin discussing wedding plans. When she didn't show--Oh, you must let me see her!"

"No!" Henry replied a bit too forcefully. He could see the boy was taken aback by the violence of his retort. "No, I will not allow that."

Freddy puffed out his chest, importantly. "And who are you to say so? If she were your granddaughter, or perhaps your ward I would back down graciously, sir. As it is, I have no idea what she is to you, but she is my fiancé, and I demand you let me see her!" This speech was given with the most insincere bit of confidence Henry had ever witness. Who was this boy who thought he could demand things in Henry's own home? Eliza's grandfather, indeed! Proper action had to be taken.

"She couldn't possibly be your affianced; she's mine." Where the devil did that come from?

Freddy laughed his irritating laugh and shook his head. "What a fine joke! Why would she agree to marry me then? And why was she storming out of your home last night pledging to drown herself? I stopped her attempt, and she repaid me by agreeing to be my wife!"

Henry felt a cold stab of guilt at Freddy's account of the night before, but he would not let the boy have the satisfaction of seeing his astonishment. "Oh that? Merely a lover's quarrel. Poor thing can't wait to be Mrs. Henry Higgins, you see. She was pressing me to move up the wedding date, and when I wouldn't relent. she bolted. Her agreeing to marry you was probably a spiteful trick to get my goat, but I assure you we've reconciled. The poor thing is indisposed with gratitude that I've taken her back is all."

Both men jumped when Eliza stormed into the room, cheeks crimson and eyes blazing. "What the bloody 'ell do you mean, your fiancé?" She shouted.

"Darling!" Cried Freddy, running to her with open arms. Eliza sidestepped him with some skill, and walked up to Henry, poking him hard in the chest.

"What are you on about, 'Enry 'Iggins? "

"Darling, why are you talking like that?" Freddy reached out and grabbed Eliza's arm, intent on making her notice him. Before Henry could protest, Eliza turned and slapped the boy as hard as she could.

"Get out of 'ere, Freddy! Can't you see I don't want you?" The boy's entire face went pale, save for the glaring red print that Eliza's elegant but strong hand had made on his cheek. He fled as if the hounds of hell were at his heels.

Henry rationalized that due to developments caused by Freddy's unwanted arrival, a continuation of their previous situation was not possibly. Especially because Eliza looked as though she would cheerfully slit his throat.

Henry cleared throat nervously. "So…"

"Why did you tell Freddy that we were engaged?" She inquired in a deadly calm voice.

For once Henry Higgins was at a loss for words. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and averted his eyes from her steady gaze.

"Henry, why?" She seemed to be calming down a bit, the manner of speech he had tirelessly drilled into her brain returning. It was becoming too much for him.

"You stupid girl, I was trying to get rid of him!" He could see she was confused. "He's a damned nuisance, and when I think of the both of you bonded in matrimony I want… I want to do something foolish and emotional, and I don't like being foolish and emotional! I'm not a woman, I don't revel in every erratic shift in mood like you seem to do!" There. He looked at Eliza expectantly. Let her strike at him, or scream like a shrew; he had been truthful with her.

"I knew you were jealous," she admitted. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Impudent hussy!

"Yes. Quite. Now here's a poser, Eliza; why did you pack a suitcase full of clothes when you fled last night if you were going to do a foolish thing like throw yourself into the river?" He smirked when she blushed. "Forget it. Just mind you don't entertain thoughts like that ever again," He had an undercurrent of seriousness in his tone. All joking aside, the thought of her set on killing herself frightened him. He doubted he would be able to bear her being permanently taken from his little world.

"Well, we've established that you are a jealous person; so much so that you chase off suitors of mine by inventing wild tales of marriage to me, yet you are not a marrying man. You do not want me to leave, yet it's improper for me to stay in this house when I am not married. What would you have me do?" By the end of her inquiry, Eliza was standing in front of Henry and had a hand resting over his chest, her eyes staring directly into his own. The looked unsettled him greatly.

"I believe you scared your own suitor off with that magnificent slap to his impudent face. I daresay you gave yourself away though, Eliza. Really, you can hold it together for royalty, but not for a common dandy like Freddy Eynsford-Hill?" He was trying like hell to keep the tone light. She was steering the conversation towards something frightening. Marriage. Damn her.

He started backing away from Eliza when her eyes narrowed. He narrowly avoided a slap to his chest. "Damn you, Henry Higgins, what would you have me do?" She cried. "Why can't you answer a simple question?"

"Simple? Hell! When is the question of marriage a simple one?"

"It should be simple! Do you want to be with me, or do you want to treat me like a treasured but uninteresting toy; something you no longer want to play with, but valued enough that you don't want the other children having a go?"

"I don't particularly care for the way you phrased that, Eliza. It sounds--"

"Apt?"

"No!"

"What then?"

"It makes you sound cheap, Eliza, and you are not cheap." His reply caused a gaping chasm of silence between the two of them. Neither wanted to speak or make eye contact with the other.

Eliza finally broke the silence. "It is apt all the same. You make motions towards showing me you want more than this arrangement we've lived under, but something always stops you. I can't be loved by you, yet, I can't be loved by anyone else either." Tears appeared at the corner of her eyes, and, not for the first time that day, Henry felt ashamed of himself.

"Eliza…" He trailed off, unsure how to proceed. Had he been a romantic fool, he would have thrown himself at her feet, his heart bloody, pounding and clutched in his hands raised toward her as an offering. "I did tell that boy that we were going to be married, did I not?"

She gave him a curious look. "Yes, what of it?"

"Well, undoubtedly he is at his mother's this very moment, sobbing into her lap over how you played him false and are, in fact, engaged to me." He cleared his throat. "Everyone knows society matrons like that can't keep their damned mouths shut. Soon everyone will think we are engaged."

"Yes, yes. It was a foolish thing for you to tell him, seeing as we aren't."

"Are we not?"

"I don't recall you asking me. Unless 'don't leave' is secret code for 'marry me'."

"I think the tone and manner in which I issued that plea was rather telling, Eliza; Involuntarily issued as it were," he added. She was being difficult. If he had to marry her to keep her, he would. Why make him say the words? He didn't relish getting on bended knee. What if he discovered a rheumatism and couldn't get back up? He would be humiliated in the face of Eliza's youth!

"You want to marry me?"

"If it means you won't marry Freddy, or any of the town drunks you listed previously, then 'yes'. I very much want to make you my wife, so Freddy the Moron, Charlie the Self-made Brute, and Bill of the Unfortunate Head Injury can't have you!" There! That was done with. The immense weight on his shoulders lifted. He had addressed the elephant in the room at last. Oh lord, now she was sobbing!

"Control yourself, woman!" He thundered. When that didn't work, he closed the distance between them and awkwardly took her into his arms, wincing as her tears began soaking his vest. "There now, Eliza, there now. What have I done to upset you now?"

"N-nothing," her voice was muffled. "I'm just happy, Henry." Another tragic fault in women. If they were so damned happy, why immediately turn to tears as a means of expressing it? Her tears made him dreadfully uneasy. He needed to do something.

Her mouth tasted salty from the tears she had shed, but still absolutely heavenly. Initially, her whole body went rigid as a board when his mouth descended on hers, and he was afraid that the intrusion was unwelcome. He nearly sighed when he felt her body relax against his, and her lips soften and part slightly. He would not try anything daring, not for her first kiss. Let it stay sweet, with only a slight promise of what was to come. There was a heady thought. Eliza Higgins. Hmmm.

When they parted, Henry planted one more kiss on Eliza's forehead, and then ventured a glance. Her cheeks were a pleasing pink shade, and her brown eyes were sparkling.

"Bloody 'ell."

Yes, he felt he would quite enjoy having her as a wife.


	10. A Family

Eliza Doolittle: The Life and Times of a Good Girl

Chapter Ten: A Family

* * *

Eliza returned to her rooms in a daze. It was true, she had fled the idea of becoming Mrs. Freddy Eynsford-Hill to return to 247A; Eliza just never imagined she would be welcomed back as the fiancé of Professor Henry Higgins. If she could be rewarded a shilling for every time Henry proclaimed himself 'A Confirmed Old Bachelor', Eliza would be very rich indeed!

"He won't be a bachelor any longer," Eliza sighed, falling back onto her bed. She could not think about the kiss they shared without blushing deeply. So, that is why Freddy was keen; kissing is a marvelous business! Eliza giggled girlishly. She was glad that Henry had suggested she retire to her rooms in order to rest before dinner. Surely, he would rescind his proposal if he saw her behaving so foolishly!

A knock on the door pulled Eliza out of her reverie. She stood up, smoothed her skirts, and crossed the room. "Who is it?"

"It's Mrs. Pearce, the Professor told me you had come home. Is there anything I can get for you, Miss Doolittle?" Eliza threw the door open, and impulsively embraced the astonished old woman. Mrs. Pearce returned the embrace warmly, albeit a bit awkwardly. "It's good to have you back, Miss Doolittle."

"Thank you, Mrs. Pearce." Eliza released Mrs. Pearce and grinned at her. Mrs. Pearce gave Eliza a quizzical look.

"You look very happy, Miss Doolittle. Has that Eynsford-Hill boy really proposed?"

Eliza's face fell. "The Professor didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what, dear?"

Eliza shook her head. "Never you mind, Mrs. Pearce. I won't be needing anything right now. I will be down shortly for dinner."

Eliza mentally scolded herself for being disappointed. Of course Henry wasn't going to shout his retirement from bachelorhood from the rooftops. He wasn't the demonstrative sort, and marriage to Eliza wasn't likely to change that.

"She's returned? Good lord, Higgins, how did you manage that?" Pickering asked. The two gentlemen had been reading quietly in the study, when Henry had made an offhanded comment about hoping the cook would prepare Eliza's favorite dish.

Henry shrugged, his eyes not leaving his book. "Oh, that. I proposed to her."

Pickering burst out in laughter. "Oh-ho! That's a good one, Higgins. Come now, how did you really get her to come back?"

Henry furrowed his brow, and closed his book, setting it down on the table beside him. "It's not something I would ever jest about, marriage."

Before Pickering could reply, the door to the study opened, and Eliza entered. Henry found himself unable to repress a smile at the sight of her. "Hello, Eliza."

She blushed. "Hello, Professor Higgins. Colonel Pickering." Pickering stood up and crossed the room so that he could take Eliza's hand.

"I am so glad you've returned, Miss Doolittle, so glad."

"Mrs. Pearce sent me to announce dinner. The cook must have heard that I returned, he's prepared lamb."

Pickering began to offer him arm to Eliza, but was interrupted by Henry. Eliza gave Pickering an apologetic look and accepted Henry's arm. Pickering was stunned. Perhaps they were engaged!

Eliza felt inexplicably shy. Dinner was, for the most part, silent, as if the rest of the table had been stricken with their ability to speak as well. Ordinarily, dinner was an occasion for discussion and debate. Pickering would usually mention something he read about in the paper, and Henry would give him not-so-humble opinion, and Eliza would be absorbing the proceedings with rapt fascination. Occasionally, when she felt particularly bold, Eliza would lend her view to the discussion. Henry would scold her, saying that women were not expected to debate on such matters, but he would have an amused smile on his face.

No lively debates this night, it seemed. Pickering kept looking from Eliza to Henry, as if expecting one of them to break character and declare it all a fine joke. Henry was seemingly ignorant of Pickering's inquiring glances, and ate his meal with an indifferent and carefree air.

"Eliza, you know Cook will be upset if you don't touch your meal. Is there anything wrong with it?" Henry asked, seemingly innocently unaware of the tension at the table.

"No, Professor Higgins, there's nothing wrong with it. I suppose I am just distracted."

Henry reached over the table to pat her hand. "You've had a trying day. Two proposals in one day, and all that." He cleared his throat. "I also think we are above certain niceties. Please, call me Henry."

Pickering nearly choked on a bit of lamb at that. He took a drink of water to clear his throat.

"Yes, Pickering, it's true. I've asked for Eliza's hand in marriage, and have invited her to be on a first name basis with me." Higgins turned to the door to the kitchen. "I say, Mrs. Pearce, did you hear that?"

He shrugged when there was no answer. "She's obviously embarrassed that I'm aware the staff eavesdrops on every conversation in this house."

Pickering his attention to Eliza, her serene eyes cast on her plate. "Congratulations, Miss Doolittle. Although, I've no idea how it came about, I am happy for my dearest friends, all the same."

"Thank you, Colonel," Eliza replied in a sweet, breathless tone.

"Yes, thanks Pickering. I daresay I will have to make you best man, if my brother doesn't object."

Eliza's fork clattered to the table. "You have a brother?"

"Hmmm…? Oh, I suppose I never told you. Yes, I have a brother. He's ten years my junior, and is an utter prat. Mother named him Edward."

"Will I get to make his acquaintance before the wedding?" Eliza was curious now. Henry had a family that consisted of more than just his mother. Eliza only vividly remembered ever having her father in her life, with grainy images of her long dead mother. No brothers or sisters. Although, there was a niggling little flash of an elegant hand upon a flat stomach, and a childish voice asking if that was her baby brother.

"Oh, I suppose once we tell Mother, a luncheon with Edward, his wife, and their multitude of screaming brats will be inevitable. Pickering, you needn't attend. The whole affair would be of no interest to you."

Pickering nodded. "I wouldn't wish to impose." He smiled up at one of the maids as she set dessert down in front of him. "Thank you, Jenny."

"You have nieces and nephews?" Eliza asked in an astonished voice. She had automatically assumed that any sibling of Henry would be as committed to bachelorhood as he once was.

"He can't seem to stop giving me nieces and nephews. Let's see; There are the eldest set of twins, Julia and Margaret; The younger set of twins, Little Edward and June; My namesake, Little Henry: and now, if I'm not mistaken, another on the way. Poor Jane, I would put a lock on the bedroom door if I were in her position. Monsters all, with the exception of Little Henry. He's only three, but he shows good sense."

"How lovely to have such a big family," Eliza mused, scooping a bit of chocolate mousse into her mouth.

"I agree, Higgins. A namesake and everything, that must have been a proud day for you!" Pickering remarked.

Henry looked unruffled by Eliza and Pickering's comments. "It's not bad, I suppose. As I said before, Edward is an utter prat, and his children are little heathens. His wife is a good sort of girl, though. I daresay you will get on splendidly with her, Eliza."

"I can scarcely wait," was Eliza's reply.

Henry studied her with an amused little smile. "And when shall we break the news to your father and your new step-mother? I am positively chomping at the bit to see the nouveau riche monstrosity they've undoubtedly taken residence in."

Eliza felt her enthusiasm wane a bit, and took a deep breath. "Oh, soon. I am curious to see their new home as well." Nothing could be further from the truth. She wished her father well, but did not want him to have any place in her new life. He always seemed to sour any bit of happiness she possessed.

"Well, it's settled then. We'll make a day trip of it, starting at Mother's and ending at your father's. Let's surprise them."

Mrs. Higgins certainly was surprised. However, she recovered from her shock in order to congratulate her son on his good sense, and to embrace Eliza.

"This is so sudden, Henry. What happened to your vow to never marry?" Mrs. Higgins inquired.

"I've changed my mind. Eliza is invaluable, and if marriage is the only way to keep her at my side, then so be it." Eliza tried to manage a smile. Not once had he confessed that he loved her, and she doubted he would do so in front of his mother. As if sensing her distress, Henry took her hand and squeezed it.

"Well, that is all very romantic, I'm sure. Will the two of you stay for tea?" Mrs. Higgins motioned for the two of them to have a seat.

Henry shook his head. "Oh, no thank you, Mother. We have to drop in on Edward and Jane."

"Good lord, really? You haven't spoken to Edward in almost a year! Surely you've at least warned Jane that you are coming?"

Henry shook his head. "No, I thought it would be pleasant to surprise our loved ones today."

"Loved ones? Henry, the last time you spoke with Edward it ended with you calling him-- well, something not entirely fit for ladies ears, and him threatening to call the police."

"Water under the bridge, I assure you."

"Does he know that? Have either of you apologized to one another?"

"Well…"

"I see. I am coming with the two of you to keep the peace then."

The moment Eliza stepped into the parlor of Edward Higgins's residence, she sensed an air of unrestrained chaos. The butler seemed to be a man who lived under constant stress; Some of his hair was missing in patches, and his clothing was rumpled. He gave Henry a look of serious distaste, before leaving to announce the guests.

"Gran! Uncle Henry!" Cried a chorus of childish voices. Suddenly, two almost identical ten year old girls flew into the parlor. They were dirty-faced, but quite charming with their strawberry blonde curls and blue eyes. One of them was holding what looked to be a long rope made out of neck-ties, and at the end of the rope, tied to it by the waist, was a very harassed looking male toddler.

"My word! Could these little ragamuffins really be my darling granddaughters?" Cried Mrs. Higgins, kissing the two of them soundly.

"What have you two she-beasts done to Little Henry?" Higgins asked, affecting a glare at the twins.

"He's our prisoner," Explained the one holding the rope.

"Don't talk to him. We need to keep his morale low," the other added, solemnly. Finally, the twins noticed Eliza.

"Who is that, Uncle Henry?" Asked the one with the rope.

"_That _is Eliza Doolittle, Margaret. She's going to be your aunt." Henry explained, who was in the process of untying the toddler. He picked scooped up Little Henry and brought the child to Eliza. "Say hello to Miss Doolittle, young man."

The little boy, smiled at Eliza, but burrowed his head against his uncle's neck, bashfully.

"You're so old, Uncle Henry. You can't take a wife," the other twin, Julia by deduction, informed her uncle.

Before Henry could give the child a retort that would singe her ears, the butler returned.

"Follow me, Mr. Higgins."

The group was led into a sitting room that was nicely furnished, but strewn with toys. In an armchair sat a man who very much resembled Henry Higgins, only with a few less lines about his face and no shocks of grey running through his dark hair. He was not smiling at the party.

"If Mother weren't here, I wouldn't feel obligated to conduct myself as a gentleman." Edward Higgins stood up, and crossed the room to kiss his mother on both cheeks. "It's so good to see you again, Mother."

"Behave yourself, Edward, there are ladies present." Edward stood back and visually took in Eliza. He appeared to like what he saw, for he smiled at her.

"Who is this vision of womanhood?"

"Eliza Doolittle, I would like you to meet my brother, Edward Higgins. Edward, Miss Doolittle is my fiancé."

"You're joking! This goddess has deigned you suitable for marriage?"

"Edward, moderate your language in front of the children!" Mrs. Higgins scolded. She disliked her youngest son's familiar tone.

"Indeed. Where is dear Jane?" Henry asked, reminding Edward that he already had a wife.

Edward shook his head. "You know she is with child again. She is not fit to receive guests in her advanced state. Also, the doctor has restricted her to bed rest."

Henry's face darkened at that. "You knew she was delicate before you married her. Why must you always put her in peril?"

"Henry, Edward! This is hardly the subject matter one should be discussing in front of children and unmarried women!" Mrs. Higgins's voice had an edge of hysteria to it. Eliza was uncomfortable in the presence of the two volatile males, and the children in question had already fled the room.

"Very well, Mother, very well." Edward sighed. He motioned for the party to set down. "I do suppose congratulations are in order. Congratulations, dear brother. Congratulations, Miss Doolittle, you've picked an interesting specimen of manhood." He studied her face once more with a queer expression. "I feel as though I've met you before, years and years ago. It's impossible, of course. You can't be more than twenty-two years old, I'm sure." He coughed. "Forgive me, I did not mean to speculate on a lady's age. I assure you, Mother raised me better than this."

"It's quite alright, Mr. Higgins. I think you will find I am not as missish about my age as some." Eliza smiled at Henry, and took his hand. "I find I've taken quite a shine to your older brother. I couldn't be happier to become his wife." Eliza's smile widened when she took note of Henry's blush.

"By George, your voice is a heady combination of rustling silk and Christmas bells. How charming!" Edward warmly complimented. Henry shot him a murderous look, which Edward ignored. "I daresay your face is going to drive me to distraction until I realize who you remind me of."

"I couldn't possibly imagine who I would remind you of, Mr. Higgins."

"Have you frequented Covent Garden before about six months ago, Edward?" Henry asked with a naughty grin. "She used to sell flowers there."

Edward just laughed. "What a joke, brother! Selling flowers indeed."

The group continued with small talk for a bit, before Henry announced that it was time for he and Eliza to depart for her father's house. Mrs. Higgins decided to stay on at her younger son's home, so that she may sit a while with her grandchildren.

Eliza approached her father's fashionable townhouse with a feeling of dread.


	11. Upwardly Mobile or Eliza's Dowry

Eliza Doolittle: The Life and Times of a Good Girl

Chapter Eleven: Upwardly Mobile or Eliza's Dowry

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay, guys! I just got a new job, and my beta has been immersed in year end school projects, so needless to say we've been distracted. Here is a mass update of at least four chapters in recompense.

* * *

Alfred P. Doolittle's new residence was, as Higgins prophesied, an upwardly mobile monstrosity. The new Mrs. Doolittle adored pink, therefore the entire parlor had been painted- nay! marinated, in the carnation hue. The heavy velvet draperies were fuchsia, and tied to the side with thick red cords. Eliza's eyes widened as she took in the heavy plush carpeting, which was also carnation, and the white overstuffed furniture with pink roses painted into the fabric. Sitting in the center of the room, on one of Mrs. Doolittle's white and pink sofas, was Alfred Doolittle. He had a distinct look of unease, sitting in room that was such a gross exaggeration of femininity, that Eliza couldn't resist hiding her smile with a gloved hand.

"What's this then? Come to give 'er back, 'iggins?" Alfred inquired, his arms crossed in front of him like a displeased child. "Can't you see one female is enough in me life?"

"Actually, I am here to ask your permission to keep her on a more permanent basis," Henry replied. When it seemed the news wasn't registering with Alfred, Henry sighed impatiently and added, "I would like to marry your daughter."

A wide grin appeared on Alfred's face. "Well, well, well!" He stood up and walked over to Henry, vigorously shaking the younger man's hand. "It's about time someone took an interest in me little old maid, eh?"

Eliza bristled. "Old maid?" She glared at her father.

Alfred patted his daughter's cheek, making her wince. "I'm just teasin', Eliza." He turned back to Henry.

"Course you can marry 'er, you paid five quid for 'er, didn't ya?"

Henry blanched. Eliza had never been told about the transaction between her father and himself.

"Well, I'll be taking that five quid then, Dad." Eliza extended her hand, seemingly unruffled by the revelation. Both men looked at her in astonishment.

"'Scuse me?"

"The five quid. Give it to me." When Alfred wouldn't relent, she smiled. "My dowry, Dad. It's tradition. You can't send me out into the world of matrimony without some sort of incentive for Professor Higgins."

"Incentive!" Cried Henry, affronted.

Alfred nodded. "She's right of course. Real ladies need a dowry, and Eliza's gotten 'erself right proper, ain't she?" He took out his wallet and handed Eliza a five pound note. "What's five quid to me, anyway? You could ask for more, only you're too genteel, ain't ya? Lucky I am, to not 'ave a greedy, graspin' daughter."

"How I avoided that, with you as an example, I will never know."

Alfred's cheery demeanor left his face, and for a moment it seemed he would strike Eliza. He quickly recovered, and chuckled good-naturedly. "I see your lessons ain't curbed your cheek none."

"I see marriage has improved your temper. Another time and place, and I would have been walloped proper."

A contrite look came over Alfred's features. "I ain't that same man, Eliza. I 'ave a lot in me life I ain't proud of. You don't even remember 'alf of it." He cleared his throat. "You do your poor, dead muver credit, you do."

Eliza had much she wanted to ask Alfred about the woman who existed only in faint imprints on her memory. She glanced at Henry, who was visibly uncomfortable. Now was not the time.

"Thank you, Dad," Eliza replied, truly meaning it. Desperate to change the subject, she gave the parlor a serious appraisal. "Pink."

Alfred groaned. "That's all your step-muver's doin' it is. The whole 'ousehold too, except for me study. Now she'll be wantin' greek statues, and a ruddy crystal chandelier in the dinin' area! I'm a slave to that woman."

"And where is the lady in question?" Henry inquired.

"Didn't I say? Off orderin' a chandelier. She ought to be back, shortly."

As if on cue, a shapely woman entered the parlor, her arms laden with packages. The woman was just as tall as Alfred, and twice as formidable with her impressive bosom and towering mass of russet curls piled on top of her head. Her waist was cinched almost to nothingness , in a tight, bright purple walking gown, her hips swelling out accordingly. The woman's heavily rouged face brightened at the sight of her step-daughter.

"Blimey, it's Eliza!" Eliza's step-mother rushed over to kiss her, leaving scarlet lip marks on both cheeks. "Look at us all, 'igh kickin' swells!" Mrs. Doolittle grinned at Henry, showing off her losing battle with dental hygiene. "'Oo's this, Eliza?"

"Glenna-erm, Step-mother, this is Professor Henry Higgins, my fiancé. Henry, this is my stepmother, Glenna Doolittle."

Glenna curtsied. "Charmed, I'm sure!" She cackled when Henry took her hand and kissed it with a bow.

Eliza rolled her eyes. Henry would indulge her step-mother's pretensions, only to mock them later.

Glenna ushered her guests to a sofa, and all but shoved them into sitting position. "Our Eliza, a bride! 'Ow exciting'! Never thought we'd marry 'er off, eh, Alfie?" She clapped her hands together. "I want to throw you an engagement party, that's what I want!"

"Oh, Stepmother, that won't be-"

"Don't you try to talk me out of it, missy!" Glenna eyes sparkled as the gears in her head worked. "It's gonna be grand! A big 'igh falutin' affair, wiv four courses of eats, and the entire family." She nodded at Henry. 'That means your side too, young man."

Eliza almost fainted at the thought of the Doolittle family being in the same room as the Higgins family. It would be a disaster. She hadn't even contemplated inviting her father and stepmother until Henry had brought up visiting them. Eliza looked to Henry with desperation. He, as usual, was nonplussed.

"I think that is a fine idea, Mrs. Doolittle. Positively inspired." Henry gave Eliza a teasing, secretive look. Her face burned in repressed indignation.

"No expense spared, either. Me and Old Alfie will foot the bill entirely!" Glenna announced grandly. Alfred paled, but did not contradict her.

Eliza studied her father, quizzically. How was it that Alfred P. Doolittle, lord of all he surveyed, could be so efficiently handled? Her mouth twisted, as if tasting something bitter. It was Eliza and her mother who had deserved the benefit of a gentler Alfred, not this garishly painted woman. She doubted that Alfred had ever raised his hand in anger towards Glenna. Eliza, for the life of her, could not wrap her mind around what she and Catherine could have possibly done wrong.

"Eliza?'

"Hmm?"

"You look pale and distracted. Are you unwell?" Henry was study her with a look of concern.

Eliza nodded. "A sudden headache." She stood and turned to Glenna. "Thank you, Stepmother. I look forward to the party, but I need to take my leave." Eliza nodded at Alfred. "Good day, Dad." She unceremoniously walked out of the parlor, Henry quickly on her heels.

The air outside was cool, and Eliza took it in with large gasping breaths, her hand clutching the railing in order to steady herself. She choked back a sob and composed herself when she saw Henry coming down the stairs.

"Good lord, Eliza! Are you alright?" he cupped her face in his hands, wiping an errant tear with his thumb.

Eliza pulled away from him, and nodded. "I'm fine, Henry."

"Clearly, you are not fine." He offered his arm, and she took it. "But, I'm not going to badger you about it. I just want you to know; Whatever haunts you, it can't touch you when I'm around." Eliza was rendered speechless by the tenderness in his voice. They walked in companionable silence for a while, before Henry spoke again, "Any chance of me getting that five quid?"

"Absolutely not. It's my dowry," Eliza replied, grinning cheekily.

"Well, you see, Eliza, a dowry is something that goes to the husband."

"And the joy of my presence is not dowry enough, I suppose?"

"Whatever do you need it for?

"Shoes."

"Silly girl."


	12. Mrs EynsfordHills' Turn

Eliza Doolittle: The Life and Times of a Good Girl

Chapter Twelve: Mrs. Eynsford-Hills' Turn

Disclaimer: Not Mine.

* * *

Eliza never thought that she would ever be going over an invitation list with Glenna Doolittle, let alone one for her own engagement party. The two ladies had always been under an uneasy sort of truce, never giving an appearance of dislike for one another, and yet, never quite taking the time to sit with one another and be chatty. Eliza found herself liking her new stepmother quite against her will. Glenna was open, honest, and quite a cheerful woman. The only thing Eliza did not really approve of was the flask of spirits Glenna kept trying to push into her hands as they sat on the sofa in Henry's parlor and pored over the guest list.

"Some of these people I've never met before in my life, Stepmother."

"Ah, but I 'ave, darlin'. They're your dad's new friends. Real swells."

"I really only wanted a small affair."

"Whatever for? You're a real lady, now, and you're marryin' up in the world!"

Eliza sighed impatiently. "I think the Higgins family would prefer a small party."

"Bollocks! Mrs. 'iggins gave me a list of 'er friends to invite, she did!" Glenna handed Eliza another list, and Eliza's eyes widened at the length of it. "She said they was folk 'Oo'd never speak to 'er again if 'er boy slighted them."

"I suppose I can see her logic. It would be rude to exclude family friends."

"'Aven't you any friends to invite, Eliza?"

Eliza thought about this for a moment. The smiling, glamorous faces at the Embassy Ball were a blur to her. She had enjoyed their curious chattering, but hadn't recalled any of their names. She had never been chummy with the other girls at Covent Garden, and in a snobbish way, couldn't conceive of inviting them. Wasn't the presence of the other Doolittles embarrassment enough?

"No, not really." It was a bit of a lonely confession.

Mrs. Pearce entered the parlor with a grave look about her face. "Mrs. Eynsford-Hill is here to see you, Miss Doolittle."

Eliza felt as though her heart had leapt to her throat. "Pardon?"

"She's insistent. Would you like me to send her away?"

Eliza cowardly side-contemplated telling Mrs. Pearce that she should, indeed, turn away Mrs. Eynsford-Hill. But, there was a niggling part of Eliza that remembered Freddy's last impression of her had been her hand striking his cheek and shrieking at him to leave. It had been completely inappropriate, considering Eliza had consented to be his wife. Resolved to face the situation head-on, Eliza squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and shook her head. "I will see her." To Glenna Doolittle she said, "Please, excuse me, Stepmother. This is a private matter, and I would be most grateful if you would-"

"Take me leave, I suppose?"

"I will call on you as soon as this matter is settled, I promise." Eliza helped Glenna to her feet, and gave the older woman a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you so much for your help."

Mrs. Eynsford-Hill rushed into the parlor, almost bowling Glenna over in the process.

"Aoww! Watch where your goin', I'm only walkin' 'ere!"

"Oh, shut up!" Cried Mrs. Eynsford-Hill, dismissively. With a glare, the angry woman pointed an accusatory finger at Eliza. "You infamous creature!"

Eliza pressed her lips into a thin line and nodded in greeting. "Mrs. Eynsford-Hill, won't you sit down?"

"No, I will not."

"Very well. Will you have some tea?"

"Not with you."

Eliza sighed at the squat, livid old woman. "You've come because of your son."

"Well spotted, Miss Doolittle!" Mrs. Eynsford-Hill straightened her back, rising to her full height, which was roughly a head shorter than Eliza. "I've tried to repress my outrage, but I fear I cannot hold it in any longer. You've treated my son quite shamefully - you know you have!"

Eliza bowed her head. "I will not deny it, Mrs. Eynsford-Hill."

"I fail to see how you could! Oh, to have my poor little boy have his heart trampled by the daughter of a common dustman."

Eliza's head snapped up, her eyes widened. "What?"

Mrs. Eynsford-Hill laughed at Eliza's astonishment. "Please, Miss Doolittle. Everyone knows about Alfred P. Doolittle, and they have made the connection between the two of you. Oh, you may have dazzled everyone at the Embassy Ball, but now, thanks to your infamous father boasting to anyone who will listen, they also know that you used to sell flowers and that the honorable Professor Higgins has been lodging you at his home under questionable circumstances."

"He was my teacher, and now we are going to be married." Eliza's temper was beginning to flare, her words hissing out through clenched teeth.

"I did not know that it was the mode to live with a man for half a year before becoming engaged. It must be a Covent Garden thing, I daresay." Mrs. Eynsford-Hill gave Eliza's midsection an appraising glance.

"There is talk that you are in a delicate situation, although, you seem to be as slender as a reed."

Eliza was winded by the remark. She took a deep breath, attempting composure. "I am not with child, if that's what you mean. I acted rashly when I told your son I would marry him, and for that I am sincerely sorry. I should never have said 'yes' when my heart meant 'no'."

"You should never have spoken to him in the first place, you sly piece of trash! It's disgusting to think that a mere flower girl could infiltrate our inner-circle with ease, and have people call her royalty. You'd have been killed for your presumption in a different time!"

Tears burned Eliza's eyes and threatened to fall. She bit down on her lower lip, and clenched her fists. "I think I would like for you to leave, Mrs. Eynsford-Hill. Please give Freddy my warmest regards and apologies."

"I will give him nothing but my sympathy, for having wasted his precious love on such a creature."

Eliza watched as Mrs. Eynsford-Hill took her leave, and waited for the sound of the front door slamming before sinking into the sofa and bursting into tears. It was not the accusations that hurt Eliza so much as it was the being confronted with the truth that her ultimate decision had bruised someone quite badly. Freddy Eynsford-Hill, while a stupid, shallow sort of person, was not altogether bad. What he lacked in brains, he made up for with a passionate and loving heart.

Mrs. Pearce found Eliza sobbing her heart out on the sofa. "Oh, Miss Doolittle." The old woman crossed the room, knelt by the girl, and embraced her . "My poor little girl, don't cry." Eliza was too upset to register astonishment at the show of affection from Henry's otherwise distant housekeeper. "Whatever that woman said, it was all a pack of lies."

"No, she was right to be angry. I am a heartless fraud; I should never have given her son hope that he and I could-"

"Hush now, Miss Doolittle. It's done and over with. You let Mrs. Eynsford-Hill have her say, and now she has taken her leave." Mrs. Pearce helped Eliza to her feet. "When I was your age, if I had broken down in tears every time I had to break an engagement, I wouldn't have had any time to get anything done in a day, let alone meet Mr. Pearce."

Eliza gave a watery chuckle. "You were a breaker of hearts?"

"Oh, the worst! But, that was when I had a pretty enough face to pull it off. I went about my merry way, until I met Mr. Pearce, who was ugly as sin, mind you, and the man told me to get over myself. Can you imagine? Needless to say, I admired his honesty, and for once in my life, ended up being the pursuer rather than the pursued." Mrs. Pearce had a soft, nostalgic look upon her face as she spoke, and Eliza could see for a moment, the great beauty that the older woman had once been. "You'll be happier with Professor Higgins, Miss Doolittle. It is always smart to stick with those who can see things for what they are, and still love you for it."

Henry and Pickering entered the parlor a few moments later. Henry had excused the two of them earlier in the morning, saying that they were going on a long stroll about town, and had failed to disclose the reasons.

"I say, what have you done to make Eliza cry, Mrs. Pearce? Have you been bullying the girl?"

Mrs. Pearce narrowed her eyes at Henry. "Certainly not, sir. Mrs. Eynsford-Hill was here earlier, and scolded her to hysterics."

"Damn her," Henry swore under his breath. "Pickering, Mrs. Pearce, could you please give me a few moments with Eliza?"

"It was nothing, really, I'm fine," Eliza insisted when they were alone.

Henry guided her to sofa, and they sat down together. "I hope you didn't let that ridiculous woman see you cry." He pulled out a handkerchief, blotting her nearly dry cheeks.

"Of course not, Henry."

"That's my girl." He studied her face, which was lovely, even with her eyes rimmed red and raw. Impulsively, Henry kissed her. This was a longer kiss than the last. It began innocently, a method of comfort towards Eliza, but when she sighed against his mouth, Henry found his self-control stretched taut and snap. He brought a hand up to cup her jaw, and deepened the kiss. For a moment, Henry feared Eliza would push him away and scream, but, to his astonishment, her lips parted and she leaned back against the arm of the sofa, inviting him to maneuver himself on top of her. Miraculously, there was still enough rational thought in Henry's brain, enabling him to break the kiss before succumbing to her invitation.

"Not a good idea, Eliza." His voice was hoarse, his resolve fragile as a moth's wing, especially upon seeing the blush that crept up Eliza's cheeks. A few dark curls had sprung charmingly from her chignon, framing her arresting face. "Remember, you're a good girl."

Eliza sat up straight, and nodded. "I'm sorry, Henry. It was wicked of me, and it won't happen again."

"Oh, it will happen again, when we are good and married, mind you." Henry grinned devilishly. "I hope more often than not." He pressed a kiss on her forehead, and stood up. "I've something for you, Eliza."

Eliza smiled, serenely. "Better than what you gave me a few moments ago?"

"That's a matter of opinion, you wicked thing. Now stand up and give me your left hand!"

Eliza obeyed, a crooked grin on her face. "Shall I close my eyes?" She asked, teasingly.

"Absolutely. I want this to be as ridiculous as possible."

She closed her eyes. The feel of cool metal slide up the third finger of her left hand, and when Eliza opened her eyes, she discovered a modest diamond ring, pear cut and surrounded by tiny opals.

"All those dandies in trashy novels seem to have one on hand for their proposals. I apologize for the rings' delay, but there it is. Feel free to flash it about in a boasting manner when your stepmother and my mother throw that silly engagement party that neither of us want." Henry was knocked back when Eliza threw her arms about his neck and kissed him full on the lips.

"I love you, Henry," Eliza whispered in his ear after she ended the kiss.

"You love the ring, you insect."

Eliza stood back and shook her head. "I would have married you without the ring, and you know it. I love the gesture; I know how hard it is for you to play the romantic, and I love you." She smiled. "You needn't feel obligated to say it back." With that, she flounced from the room. Henry caught her holding her hand up to the light, studying the light. "'eavens, what a rock!" She exclaimed.

He laughed, once again, enormously pleased with himself.


	13. The Book of Revelations

Eliza Doolittle: The Life and Times of a Good Girl

Chapter Thirteen: The Book of Revelations

Author's note: I just wanted to take this time to thank you all for the wonderful feedback. Without your kind words, I don't know if I would be as far in this take as I am. Much love!

* * *

Henry Higgins was in a church. Truth be told, it was a place he had successfully avoided ever since leaving his mother's home many, many years ago. It wasn't that Henry was not a god-fearing man, he just preferred to keep his relationship with God within the confines of his home, in the safety of his study. This, Henry felt, prevented the good word from being stuttered or slurred from the lips of inept clergymen.

As it was, though, Henry found himself at a baptismal font standing to the right of a small, red faced infant. The child, a girl, was screaming quite loudly, her little fists clenched and shaking. Henry had to admire the child's brass, and envy it a bit. He wished he had leave to scream and howl at the injustice of being paraded in front of the congregation like an exhibition.

Henry cast a sideways glance towards Eliza, who was sitting with Pickering in one of the front pews. She was distractingly lovely in her dove grey gown, and nearly a picture of demure Christian goodness, if it weren't for the cheeky smirk she flashed at him, and Henry knew she had to be aware of his discomfort. _Impudent Hussy_, he thought fondly.

"Henry!" Came a feminine whisper. Henry turned his attention to his sister-in-law, Jane. "Name her."

"Oh! Dreadfully sorry…" Henry dug in his coat pocket for the envelope Edward had given him at the beginning of the ceremony. For reasons unknown to Henry, he was not privy to the child's name beforehand. Edward had even insisted that Henry not look at the name in the envelope until it was time to name her. It had better be grand, after all this secrecy, Henry mused, pulled a sheet of paper from the envelope. The moment his eyes alighted on the name, penned in Edward's painstakingly elegant scrawl, Henry felt as thought a bucket of ice water had been thrown over him.

_Catherine Louisa Higgins_

-Twenty-three years earlier-

Henry found himself staring again at her again. It had to be the way the sun hit her golden curls, making it appear as though she was wearing a halo. Perhaps it was the way the corners of her lips quirked into that sardonic smile of hers, making her cornflower - blue eyes sparkle. Currently, she was intently unwinding a skein of yarn for his mother. Her eyes lifted for a moment and met his, before she cast them down, her thick, dark lashes fanning blocking them from his view.

"Henry, have you been listening to anything I've been telling you?" Came his mother's impatient voice.

"Hmm?"

Eleanor Higgins sighed. "I was saying that, as per your father's will, the Wimpole Street house is yours, and that I should like to know when you will be taking up residency in it. It's been empty for far too long, and it's about time you established your own household."

"Sick of the sight of me already, Mother?" Henry asked, teasingly.

His heart soared at the sublime giggle brought forth from the younger woman's lips. His eyes fixed on her once more, but she did not lift her head from her work.

"Oh for Heavens sake, Henry! It's not as if you will be all that far away. I will even throw in Mrs. Pearce. She will be an enormous help in establishing servants, and I should like to train Catherine to take her place."

Catherine looked up at Mrs. Higgins, her cheeks pink with pleasure. "Oh, Mrs. Higgins! But, what about Annette? She is your head ladies' maid, and I am only an assistant."

Mrs. Higgins smiled at the girl, and patted her cheek affectionately. "There is none as sharp as you, my dear. Annette would never take on that sort of responsibility. She's perfectly content to fix my hair and be paid an offensive wage to do so. You, sweet Catherine, are meant for much more ambitious endeavors."

Henry fought back a chuckle at the sight of a visibly preening Catherine. She was the most magnificent creature he had ever beheld. He had felt that way ever since she had first come into his mother's employ six years before. As a consequence of his opinion of her, Henry had maybe spoken to Catherine five times in those six years. The letters he wrote her, however, were numerous enough to span of lifetime of correspondence. Poetic letters of yearning, and praise. Letters that once written, were locked away in the numerous drawers of Henry's escritoire, never to be seen again.

"What's this? Catherine is going to be our new housekeeper?" A youthful voice chimed in from the archway. Henry turned towards the voice with a look of disdain. Edward bounded into the room smiling. He was not yet fourteen, but was already promising to cut a dashing figure. Edward shared Henry's dark looks that they had inherited from their father, but many considered Edward the more handsome of the two brother. Henry rationalized it was because Edward was not ever hampered down with serious thought, and probably hadn't willingly opened up a book since he started school.

Henry frowned as Edward kissed their mother's cheek, and then boldly leaned down to place a kiss on Catherine's proffered hand. Edward and Catherine always had an easy rapport that nagged at Henry ceaselessly. When Edward was a small boy, Catherine would often hold him on her lap, feed him candies, ruffle his dark hair, and sing to him. Now that he was a young man, it was no longer appropriate for them to carry on as they had, but now , the suspicious Henry sensed something different between the two of them. A bit of a flirtation perhaps. Harmless, probably; Catherine was older than Henry by three years, and therefore thirteen years older than Edward.

"Yes, just as soon as Henry takes up the Wimpole Street house. I am sending Mrs. Pearce along with him," Eleanor explained.

"Congratulations, Catherine!" Edward exclaimed. Catherine blushed prettily in response.

Eleanor brought a hand to her forehead. "This heat is giving me a dreadful headache. I think I am going to go have a lie down." Catherine assisted the older woman to her feet, and the two of them left Henry and Edward alone.

"What are you playing at, Edward?" Henry asked once they were alone.

Edward looked at his elder brother in astonishment. "I beg your pardon?"

"With Miss Fitzroy. What exactly do you think you are doing?"

Edward laughed outright. "Oh, I see what you mean. You think I'm in love with Catherine, is that it?" The youth smirked. "Come off it, Henry; She's like a second mother to me, and you know I intend to court Jane Smythe once we're old enough." Henry supposed Edward was right, although it did not lessen the sting of his beloved being able to talk comfortably with his younger brother, while Henry could never, for the life of him, think of anything particularly clever to say when she was in his presence.

Henry cleared his throat. "I suppose the implied accusation was a bit outrageous."

"Just a bit. You're not in love with her, are you?" Henry did not respond to Edward's inquiry, causing Edward to laugh once more. "How awfully funny! It's not like you could ever marry her, you know. She's a servant, for one, and you'll never pluck up the courage to talk to her."

Henry felt rage bubbling inside of him. Sometimes he really wanted to throttle his younger brother. He could not wait for Summer holiday to end, and for the prat to be sent back to school. "Her last name is Fitzroy, Edward. Do you know what that means? Somewhere down her family line is the natural child of a king, and she carries herself like a queen." It was true.

One of Henry's most keen delights was watching how Catherine behaved with the other servants. Even around Annette, her better by household rank, Catherine treated the rest of the domestics with an imperious sort of disdain. He caught one of the male servants trying to accost her , once. Before he could intervene, Catherine rose to her full height, lifted her pointed chin and said, _'Noli me tangere, for Caesar's, I am.'_ She had rendered the mischievous servant quite speechless, and flounced from his sight, back straight as a rod. Henry had laughed from his hiding place, and added under his breath, _'And wild for to hold, though I seem tame'._

Edward shrugged at Henry's claim to Catherine's royalty. "I just don't seem Mother allowing it, and if she doesn't allow it, you had better leave it at that." The youth gave an uncharacteristic frown. "Don't meddle with her. I won't have you ruining her."

Henry was appalled at the insinuation, and told Edward as much.

About a week after that exchange, Catherine left the Higgins residence for her day off. Henry watched her glide through the streets until he could no longer see her. He resolved that she would finally get to see one of his letters; That he would finally discuss his feelings at length, and he would propose, society be damned!

She did not return that night. Henry waited late into the evening, with Edward explaining that she was probably staying with her family. Catherine's family, as far as Henry knew, were no longer of this world. Eleanor retired early, thinking nothing of Catherine's tardiness. "It is her day off, after all, Henry. Why fuss so anyway? She's of little consequence to you."

So you say now, Mother. Henry mused, with a smirk.

It was three in the morning before Henry nodded off on the chaise near the servant's entrance. He awoke several hours later to the sounds of hushed voices, feminine and masculine combined.

"Please, you needn't take me any further, Alfie." Henry leapt to his feet when he realized that it was Catherine outside the door. A rough male voice replied in such a muddled accent that Henry didn't understand a word of it. From the retreating footsteps, Henry assumed the man was leaving. Jealousy coursed through every vein in his body. Catherine had been with a man!

Henry didn't bother to hide himself when she came through the door. He took in her tumbled curls, her rumpled gown, and her swollen lips, each little thing confirming his suspicions. The force of the proof nearly winded him. Her eyes widened at the sight of him.

"Master Higgins, please-" She was cut off by Henry brutally shoving his letter into her hands. He turned and fled, intent on finding his mother. He wanted the little slut out of his sight as soon as could be managed.

He found his mother in her sitting room, having a conversation with Edward. Without preamble, Henry launched into his report. Vindictively, he added a few embellishments, pointing a finger at Edward and claiming that Catherine's behavior had been completely reprehensible towards him as of late, and that she had also been carrying on with a great deal of the male staff. Henry declared his unwillingness to name any of them, painting Catherine as a brazen seductress, and that the intrigues were entirely her fault. He refused to make eye contact with Edward the whole time, but he could almost feel the heat of his brother's glare.

Eleanor refused to believe any of it, until Catherine burst into the room, sobbing and begging for forgiveness. She had been under the impression that her conduct of the morning was the only thing coming into question. Her disheveled appearance gave credence to at least one of Henry's claims, as did her contrite attitude. With a heavy, and injured heart, Eleanor had Catherine expelled from the house.

As Henry grew older, he came to regret his rash actions. He realized, standing at the baptismal font, reading his goddaughter's name from a sheet of paper, that Edward had never forgiven him.

End of Chapter

Author's Note: Noli me tangere is Latin. It roughly translates to: Touch me not. The context in which the phrase was used is from a poem entitled 'Whoso List to Hunt' and is attributed to Thomas Wyatt, written about his unrequited love for Anne Boleyn. I felt it appropriate for this chapter, as I wrote Catherine with little touches of what I imagine Anne's personality was. Here is the poem in its entirety:

Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind,

But as for me, hélas, I may no more.

The vain travail hath wearied me so sore,

I am of them that farthest cometh behind.

Yet may I by no means my wearied mind

Draw from the deer, but as she fleeth afore

Fainting I follow. I leave off therefore,

Sithens in a net I seek to hold the wind.

Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt,

As well as I may spend his time in vain.

And graven with diamonds in letters plain

There is written, her fair neck round about:

Noli me tangere, for Caesar's I am,

And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.


	14. The Aftermath and the Engagement Party

Eliza Doolittle: The Life and Times of a Good Girl

Chapter Fourteen: Aftermath and Engagement Party

* * *

Eliza sensed a disturbing undercurrent of tension at Catherine's baptismal party. Henry was silent and brooding, and Edward seemed to take great lengths to be at least a half room away from his older brother at all times. Either Jane was completely oblivious, or doing a very convincing job of pretending she was.

Eliza sat next to Jane, marveling at the thought of such a petite woman giving birth, let alone six times. Jane only came up to Eliza's shoulders, and she was extremely fine-boned. Her only bold feature seemed to be her riotous red-gold curls, that rebelled against her tight chignon. Other than that, Jane was plain and pure as spring water. Eliza found it hard to believe the woman was little over a decade older than herself, for Jane's stature made her seem a perpetual child.

"My mother's name was Catherine," Eliza informed Jane, as the two of them fussed over the newborn.

"Really? It's such a lovely name, and Edward was oddly insistent on it. It was odd in that he's never shown much interest in names our children have, although when Little Henry was named, Edward was a little put out. Edward and Henry have never got on, for some strange reason." Jane shrugged. "I find Henry endlessly fascinating, and I quite like him."

"You've known the Higgins family for a long time, then?"

Jane nodded, while tugging at the blanket covering sleeping baby Catherine. "All my life it seems." She studied the child, thoughtfully. "I do recall Edward mentioning a Catherine when we were children; perhaps that is where he got the name." Jane looked up at Eliza with a curious look. "How was it that you met Henry? No one ever tells me anything."

"Oh, well, that is quite a long story, and a rather shocking one."

Jane's eyes lit up. "Oh, please tell! I do love a long and shocking story."

"Perhaps another time, Jane, in private."

Across the room, Henry Higgins approached his younger brother. "What the devil are you thinking, dragging up that old business?" He hissed, grabbing Edward by the arm in a vice grip and leading him to a secluded alcove.

Edward gave his brother a clueless grin. "What are you talking about, man?"

"Waiting until the most inconvenient damn moment to try and get a rise out of me. Did you want me to cause a scene at your daughter's christening?"

"Catherine is a very common name for girls."

"Rubbish. The meaning isn't common for you or for me!"

Edward's carefree guise slipped; he glared at Henry. "Very well then. I like seeing you squirm; I like knowing that your conscience still tortures you. I think I may despise you."

"Why? That was ages ago, damn you!"

"I wonder what Catherine is doing nowadays. Probably she's some used up old bangtail, because I never heard about any respectable family taking her in. Especially since the story was she seduced a schoolboy." Edward hissed the last part from behind clenched teeth, his eyes blazing.

"Edward, desist. Why can't we let bygones be bygones?"

"Because you persist in apologizing to the wrong person." Edward glanced over at Eliza, who was chatting animatedly with Jane, completely unaware she was being observed. "She's very pretty. I guess you lead a pretty charmed life, having young women you don't deserve hanging off of your arm like you're some sort of prize." He looked back at Henry. "I was happy when you were a bachelor, because I thought that was what you deserved, to die alone. You still do, you know. Count your blessings, and hold on tight to that sweet angel." He started to walk away, but Henry grabbed his arm.

"That almost sounds like a threat, Edward."

Edward threw off Henry's arm and continued to stalk away, putting his very best host smile on when he came in view of the other guests. Henry composed himself, and emerged from the alcove, heading for Eliza. Why did her trusting smile wound him so?

"Eliza, I'm dreadfully tired, as is Pickering. I think we should take our leave." He held out his hand, and, to his relief, she took it, and stood up.

"It was so nice to meet you. I do hope to see you at the engagement party next week," Said Eliza to Jane. The older woman beamed and nodded.

"I can hardly wait. Mother Higgins tells me it's going to be the biggest party she has hosted in ages. She never thought she would get to marry Henry off, you know." Jane shot Henry a teasing smile. "I do hope he's not a dreadful beast to you. There are reasons certain men stay on the market so long."

"Pax, you shrew!" Henry cried in mock offense.

"Such peace offerings are cheapened when you refer to me as 'shrew', dearest brother, but let us be friends and bid each other farewell." Jane rose and kissed Henry on the cheek, and then gave a kiss to Eliza. "I think it is lovely that you found each other," she whispered, squeezing Eliza's hand.

On the taxi ride home, Eliza noticed Henry had settled once more into moody silence.

"Darling, Jane told me that you and Edward don't get on."

"An astute observation."

"Might I ask why?"

"No you may not!" Henry thundered, giving Eliza a start. He had not exactly been tender since their engagement, but he had curbed his temper considerably. Something was truly bothering him. "Forgive me, Eliza. It's been a sore subject today, and I don't want to elaborate any further."

The rest of the ride home was conducted in silence. Eliza almost wished she had shared a cab with Pickering, he was never moody or silent, for that matter.

Eliza found herself letting alcohol touch her lips for the first time in her life. It was a drastic decision, she realized, but the circumstances had driven her thus. She was standing in Mrs. Higgins' ballroom, dressed to the nines in an evening gown of violet watered silk, and listening to the many congratulations from people she had never seen before in her life. Henry was off talking to colleagues and chums, and had unfeelingly left her with the wives of said colleagues and chums.

"I am astonished that Henry has decided to give up his bachelorhood for someone so young!" Exclaimed a stunning, icy blonde name Jillian Webster. She was in her early forties, and elegant as a swan. It also appeared that she did not care for Eliza, which explained her complete lack of tact.

"I am nearly twenty-four, hardly as young as all that."

"And he is on the wrong side of forty, if memory serves." Jillian smirked. "I suppose I can see the appeal of that. I am sure you make him feel very young." She shot a knowing look at the other, married women, and they smothered their laughing mouths with elegantly gloved hands.

"Say, didn't you throw over Freddy Eynsford-Hill for him?" Asked Alicia Moore, who was closer to Eliza's age than the rest of the women. She had married a cousin of Henry's, whose name Eliza couldn't recall.

"No sense in denying it. Yes, Mr. Eynsford-Hill proposed. I weighed both options, and realized Henry was the wiser choice."

"Money is always the wiser choice, isn't it, my dear?" Jillian replied, cattily.

"I was referring to matters of my heart, Mrs. Webster. Your remark says rather more about you than it does about me," Eliza retorted heatedly. "Excuse me ladies, the air in here is rather foul, and I need to step outside." Eliza squared her shoulders and made a graceful exit, resisting the urge to flee.

The air outside was cool and welcoming, bringing a chill to her cheeks that had previously been burning from her first glass of champagne. It was clear she would need another before the night was through. Eliza did not understand those women at all. Prying, and catty, especially Jillian Webster. She clutched the railing of the balcony until her knuckles turned white. Had this been Covent Gardens in a previous lifetime, Eliza most likely would have thrashed the girl. This wasn't the streets of London though, this was society, and Eliza had to bear it with an air of indifference she had not yet mastered.

With one final gulp of fresh air, Eliza prepared herself for battle and headed back into the ballroom. The gaggle of shrews were not in the place she had left them, so Eliza searched the room for other familiar faces. She accepted another flute of champagne, and started to head towards Henry. Voices from behind a nearby pillar caught her attention. It was Jillian and Alicia.

"…I still can't mete out what Henry is doing with her. He swore to me that he could not stand virgins, but would not marry a woman who had been had by other men, and that is one of the reasons he stayed single," Jillian hissed.

"He certainly doesn't mind having women who are already married, eh, Jill?"

Eliza pressed her back against the pillar, unable to walk away from the unfolding conversation. She finished her flute of champagne and signaled for another one. She decided to take two. Her heart was beating furiously against her chest.

"Oh, he hasn't seen me for almost a year. Last we spoke he was rambling on about some new 'project' and barely paying me any mind at all." Jillian laughed bitterly.

"Do you think he will see you after he is married?"

"Oh most likely. Like I said before, virgins bore him. That poor little lamb is liable to faint dead away the second he drops his trousers on their wedding night! I passed him a note, reminding him of our arrangement, and inviting him to continue it, although he's made no sign that he's read it. Typical Higgins."

Eliza found she could not hear any more of it. She crossed the room to Henry, who was laughing with Pickering and other friends. He regarded her warmly, and his friends nodded at her. "Eliza, you are terribly flushed."

"I'm sorry, Henry. I just wanted to let you know that I am not feeling well, and I am going to find a room to have a lie down. I don't want to impose on your good time." It was not a lie, Eliza was feeling dizzy, drunk on emotion and too much champagne. She swayed a bit; Henry's face darkened with concern.

"Good lord!" He gently took one of Eliza's arms in an attempt to steady her. "Excuse me, gentlemen." The two left the ballroom together, with every scrutinizing eye on them.

Once they were away from the critical eyes of their guests, and halfway up the stairs, Henry took Eliza in his arms and began to carry her the rest of the way. Her head, heavier than it had ever been, fell to rest against his chest. "Your friends' wives are horrid," she muttered.

"I know, I'm sorry I left you to the wolves, Eliza. I just thought that for us to hang off of each other all loving-like the entire night would be untoward."

Eliza gave a muffled chuckle. "You would never act loving-like with me in public; You oughtn't carry on with your colleagues' wives, you know."

Henry paused in the middle of the hallway and set her down on her feet so he could get a good luck at her. Eliza was drunk! "What do you know about any such thing?" He asked, taken aback.

"Jillian. I overheard her talking. Did you enjoy her note?"

"I burnt it without the dignity of a response, if you must know," Henry replied, glaring at his inebriated fiancé. He caught her as she swayed forward. Immediately, he became aware of her curves pressed tantalizingly against his chest. Her lips were centimeters away from his own.

"She said that you would tire of me, and that you resolved long ago never to take a virgin." Eliza pressed a quick kiss on his bottom lip, her sweet brown eyes slightly unfocused.

"I said a lot of foolish things. I am marrying you, aren't I?"

"Will you tire of me and run back to her arms? Surely she knows much more about how to please you." She was squirming slightly against him, and he willed himself to get a hold of the arousal that hummed through his entire being.

"Damn it, Eliza! If you do not cease your wriggling about, I will have to show you just how easily you can please me. Given your state of inebriation and our state of not-quite-wedlock, I daresay we would both feel very foolish in the morning." He placed a hand on the small of her back, and led her down the hall to a guest bedroom. "Now go lie down, and I will retrieve you once I can find Pickering and we can leave. I will make your excuses."

Eliza actually batted her eyelashes! "May I have a kiss goodnight?"

"No! Bad idea!" He turned and fled before the instinct to follow into the guest room and ravish her overtook him. It would not do. Not in his mother's home.

"When will this damned engagement be over and done with anyway?" He asked himself out loud.

-Earlier that Evening-

Edward Higgins rolled his eyes at the sumptuousness of his older brother's engagement party. Clearly, his mother was overjoyed that Henry was finally settling down, and expressing her happiness by throwing a party that would undoubtedly be discussed in the papers the next day. He smirked at the decorations. Eleanor Higgins' elegant style clashed horribly with Glenna Doolittle's noveau riche ideals. Carnation pink crepe hangings. Edward shuddered. He glanced over at his mother, who seemed to be getting on quite famously with Eliza's cockney upstart of a stepmother. Shocking.

It was curious, Eliza Doolittle's humble beginnings. Edward had laughed when Henry had told him Eliza had been a flower girl, thinking it was some sort of joke. Not that it mattered. Henry was old and rich enough to marry from whichever class he pleased, and Eliza was exquisite. More than Henry ever deserved.

The more Edward studied Eliza's elegant form, the more it struck him with an old familiarity. The eye and hair color were all wrong, and she was certainly taller and more slender then Catherine Fitzroy, but the shape and tilt of her eyes, her lips and the shape of her face were all something he had seen before. He had overhead Eliza tell Jane that her mother had been named Catherine and it struck him to the core. Probably a coincidence. Catherine was such a commonly used name.

Edward was surprised when Eliza's father, Alfred, approached him. "You're the Professor's bruver, I 'ear. Never told me 'e 'ad family."

"Yes, well, Henry and I don't see each other very often." Edward squinted at Alfred. Hard to see where Eliza got any of her sublime looks.

"I was a 'andsome man in me 'eydey. 'Andsome enough to attract Eliza's muver." Alfred explain, shrewdly catching Edward's thinly veiled look of disgust.

"Was she a pretty woman?"

Alfred's face took on a dreamy, nostalgic expression. "Bee-yoo-ti-ful. Tell you the truth, I 'ad no business wiv' her, truly. She was a ladies' maid, too 'igh class for a dustman."

Edward's heart started to beat wildly against his chest, his face flush. "A ladies' maid you say?"

Alfred nodded. "Loverly speakin' voice, and the like." He laughed bitterly. "When I was in me cups, I used to beat 'er for speakin' 'igh class. If I knew then what I know now…" He trailed off, his eyes a bit misty. "That's all in the past. She died givin' birth to a baby what was too young to be born. My fault, I'm sure." He reached in to the inside pocket of his dress coat and pulled out a silver frame and a letter, folded up with a broken seal. "I only got the one picture of 'er and baby Eliza, and a letter she used to keep in a box. I was gonna give it to Eliza tonight."

Edward's breath caught in his throat as he studied the little photograph. His elegant, lovely old friend was preserved in eternal youth, holding a chubby, dark haired baby. He felt tears burning when he realized she was truly dead, and had been for years. His eyes fell upon the letter. The seal was Henry's.

"Have you read the letter?" Edward asked, his voice cracking slightly.

Alfred shook his head. "No, I've no right. It was one of the few things she brought wiv' 'er when she came to me. It's for Eliza's eyes."

"Why haven't you given them to her yet?"

"To tell you the truth, I 'aven't the courage. Eliza and I don't talk 'bout 'er muver. I fink she blames me for all that 'appened, and rightly so."

Edward held out an upturned palm. "Let me take them, I will see that she gets them."

Alfred studied Edward, hesitantly. "You'll make sure she gets them? Maybe keep me name out of it?"

"Absolutely."

The tools of Henry's destruction changed hands, hands that trembled with eagerness.


	15. NowLaterSoon

Eliza Doolittle: The Life and Times of a Good Girl

Chapter Sixteen: Now/Later/Soon

* * *

_"Now, as the sweet imbecilities_

_Tumble so lavishly_

_Onto her lap,_

_Now, there are two possibilities:_

_A, I could ravish her,_

_B, I could nap." -_

_'Now/Later/Soon' A Little Night Music_

The days leading up to the wedding flew by in a dizzying blur. Eliza was removed from 27A, and deposited in Mrs. Higgins' home, much to Henry's sulking disgust.

"Well, that's just damned absurd! How am I supposed to find anything around here with you being spirited away to Mother's?" He railed at Eliza, as she descended the front stairs, suitcase in hand.

"I assume, or rather hope, you really mean you can't do without me for two days because you will miss me," Eliza replied coolly.

"Of course I will miss you! Who is going to fetch my slippers?" He asked, teasingly. Eliza huffed in offense, dropped her suitcase, and threw a well-aimed fist at Henry's arm. He laughed, even though it actually hurt.

"I do love your fire, woman." Eliza's blazing eyes dimmed and softened at his words, she nearly winded him when she threw herself into his arms. Henry felt frustratingly emotional when her tears began to dampen his shirt. "Come now, Eliza. It's only two days after all. Mother and that ridiculous Glenna will keep you so busy you won't even have time to miss me. After that, we will be married and off to Beaulieu-sur-Mer, where I can have you all to myself for however long you wish it."

Henry prided himself on his choice of honeymoon spot. Not that he particularly cared for Southern France, but he was so looking forward to seeing Eliza in her bathing suit again, this time in the privacy of their own honeymoon cottage. Perhaps she would even lose that ridiculous bathing cap, and allow her rich, dark curls to fall wantonly down her back. He smirked at the mental picture.

"I wish we could just leave now, and elope. I don't need a lavish ceremony in a church filled with people I don't know; I just need you." Eliza's confession made Henry's heartbeat quicken. He felt the exact same way.

"Now, Eliza, would it really be worth it having Mother and Glenna never speak to us again?" _Yes_.

"I suppose you are right." Eliza smiled through her tears. "I shall have to persevere." She lifted her head and kissed Henry softly on the mouth. "But I can't wait to find out what being your wife entails." Eliza's smile widened when she saw that Henry was blushing ever so slightly.

"Run to Mother's, you silly girl, or I shall lose my resolve to let you go."

The next two days for Eliza were a whirlwind of last minute fittings, approvals on floral arrangements, and constant other questions regarding the ceremony. Any time she found a moment to rest, it was interrupted almost immediately by either Mrs. Higgins or Glenna. It was enough to make her want to tear out her own hair. Many a time she would have violent fantasies of shrieking, "Hang the wedding!", into their sweet older faces, before running out the door and into her beloved's waiting arms. Eliza could only dream.

Finally, it was the day of the wedding. Eliza stood nervously in her white satin gown, as Jane Higgins dutifully adjusted her veil. Jane had been designated to be Maid of Honor, since she was the only one out of Eliza's wedding party that Eliza was really acquainted with. The rest were cousins of Henry, and a daughter from Glenna Doolittle's previous "marriage". Jane and Edward's daughter Julia was a flower girl, although finally settling on her as one had been a bit of a bloodbath for the other children. Out of Edward and Jane's six children, only two of them were boys, and the rest, excluding baby Catherine, were violently set on being Eliza's flower girl. Ultimately, Eliza let Jane decide, because the decision was too difficult.

"You look so beautiful, Eliza," Jane complimented in a breathless voice. Eliza glanced at the mirror. The gown was exquisitely gorgeous. The lace that made up the long sleeves and mermaid train was delicate and embroidered with butterflies and flowers. The neckline was a low V, with a little bit of the beautiful lace draped over it. Eliza's hair had been curled and expertly designed, although it was hard to admire it at the moment, with the veil covering her head. Eliza's gloved hands shook slightly as she clutched her bouquet of lilies.

"It's time!" Sang Mrs. Higgins as she rushed into the dressing room. Eliza barely had time to process, before she was being hauled by the arm down the hallways of the church, towards the chapel.

Henry Higgins resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the procession before him. Surely, Eliza hadn't had the time to make the acquaintance of some of his more obscure relatives. It just wasn't possible. Another one of his mother's orders, no doubt. He smirked at the ridiculous creature with unnatural blonde hair he assumed was Glenna's spawn. She stood out, most definitely. Good for her, let her bring some color to the proceedings. His smirk disappeared at once when Eliza appeared at the archway of the chapel, her nervous eyes cast to the floor, one small hand clutching the crook of her father's arm. He swore he could hear her heart pounding from across the room, but realized it was his own. She was to be his wife. Hang the bachelorhood!

He repeated his vows in a daze, unaware that the entire time his face was fixed in an undignified stare. Eliza refused to lift her eyes from the floor, although she did repeat her vows in a strong, controlled voice that belied her shy face. Henry lost patience with her timid stance, and when they were finally pronounced husband and wife, he gently cupped her face, tilting her head so that he could look directly into her soulful brown eyes, and kissed her quite passionately before God and the congregation. He knew full well that many preconceived notions of him were thrown on their ear in that one uncharacteristic gesture, but he didn't care.

The reception was long, and in Henry's opinion, tedious. He and Eliza had insisted it be a simple affair of no more than dinner and cake, and for once, they got their way. However, there were many, many mouths to feed and the two of them had to endure many congratulations.

Edward pulled Henry aside, the younger man's face contrite. "Brother, I just wanted to apologize for what a beast I've been lately. Jane practically worships Eliza, and I think it would be in our best interest to put on a solid front for our wives. We won't be able to avoid each other, the way those two get on." Both pairs of eyes turned in the direction of the ladies in question. Sure enough, Eliza and Jane were deep in conversation. Eliza laughed heartily at something Jane said, and then turned to Henry and Edward with a fond smile.

"I suppose you are right, and I accept your apology." They shook on it.

"Oh, and Henry? If you wouldn't mind, I would like the address to your cottage."

"Whatever for? You aren't going to crash my honeymoon, are you?"

"Oh, no. I just wanted to make sure you received your wedding gift."

"Well, why don't you just give it to me now?"

Edward shook his head. "No, it's… it's being ordered. Anyway, I think it would do you better there then here."

Henry nodded. "Very well, remind me to jot it down before you leave." He looked about the room. "Do you suppose people will be going soon? I hope so."

Edward roared with laughter.

After dinner, Anson Webster approached Henry with a proposition. Webster was organizing a lecture tour of Universities across Great Britain, and the continent, and felt that Henry would be perfect as a guest speaker. The wage he was offering was substantial, but the tour dates cut in to Henry and Eliza's honeymoon and would take him away from home for at least a year. Henry steadfastly refused, even when Webster argued that he would be more than welcome to take Eliza with him and treat it as an extended honeymoon.

"What sort of honeymoon would that be, with one of us gone most of the day? Sorry, old friend, but I intend to enjoy being married for a year at least. Ask me again to tour Europe when I've tired of being married to a woman in her twenties." Henry's eyes twinkled mischievously, and was relieved when Webster relented.

"Very well. You do have at least a month to change your mind."

Eliza squeezed Henry's hand. "Darling, I am quite fatigued," she whispered in a voice that suggested she was anything but.

Henry nodded. "I will fetch a taxi to take us back home. The guests will simply have to entertain themselves." Within minutes they were bidding their adieus, and fleeing his mother's home with a haste that many of the guests disapproved of.

Eliza paced behind her privacy screen, wringing her hands nervously. Beyond the screen was Henry, waiting for her to emerge. Eliza felt as though her lungs were being crushed, her breath coming out in short, anxious huffs. He was going to see her in her nightgown, with her hair loose! He is going to see rather more than that, teased her inner voice. She had been so eager for this moment mere hours ago, and now she felt as though she was going to faint.

"I say, Eliza, are you alright?"

Eliza shook out her hands, as though they were wet, the breeze generated from the action cooled her burning cheeks slightly. "Fine, Henry." She took a deep breath, and emerged from behind the screen, willing herself not to stare at the ground like a despondent child. He was dressed for bed as well. Their eyes met, and Eliza boldly held her gaze.

"You look very fetching in that nightgown, Eliza."

"Thank you. Your mother bought it for me the other day when we went shopping for my trousseau. I wanted to save it for the honeymoon, but your mother said…" Eliza trailed off, and her pink cheeks turned to crimson.

"What did Mother say?"

"Well, she and Glenna were drinking sherry so she was a bit more liberal with her comments; She said that it would be so hot in the Mediterranean that I wouldn't need nightwear."

"Tosh, she never said that!" Now Henry was blushing.

"Truly she did!" The two of them had a bit of a laugh, before the mood became serious once more.

"Eliza?"

"Yes?"

He crossed the room, pulled her into his arms, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "If you are too nervous, my sweet-"

"No, Henry. We've come to far for me to back down now. Even if I am not quite sure what to expect."

"Did no one tell you?"

"Well, yes, parts of it. There was that letter Freddy gave me-" Henry cut her off with a searing kiss that raised the hairs on the back of her neck, and curled her toes. It was unlike any of the other kisses that they shared, even the intoxicating one they shared in the parlor the day Mrs. Eynsford-Hill had upset her. This was one of possession, of pent up emotions that bordered on anger.

"Forget that damned letter, Eliza. I am going to show you things that stupid boy couldn't even conceive of." His hard gaze softened when he took in how frightened she appeared. Henry took a deep, shuddering breath, and planted a much more gentle kiss on her slightly swollen lips. "If you will let me."

She let him.

It was everything he had imagined. Eliza had been terribly shy at first, but slowly, and patiently, he broke past her timidity, and her subdued whimpers became passionate cries. Henry found himself wishing he had his notepad, so that he could fill it with reports of Eliza's responses to his love-making, and keep it locked away for his eyes only. She was a marvel, a goddess, his bride.

Later in the evening, Henry found himself unable to sleep, so he studied Eliza's slumbering form. Her curls were deliciously tumbled; He pushed a few errant strands away from her face, tucking them behind her delicate ears. Eliza seemed almost childlike when she slept; resting on her side, her knees tucked beneath her, her mouth slightly slack. Her snoring was anything but childlike, however.

"Ridiculous creature," Henry pronounced before pulling a pillow over his head to muffle the sound.


	16. From Dover to Calais and Beyond

Eliza Doolittle: The Life and Times of a Good Girl

Chapter Sixteen: From Dover to Calais and Beyond

* * *

Eliza awoke, momentarily confused by her new surroundings and the warmth against her side. She sighed when recalling the memory of the night before. She was Eliza Doolittle no longer. The warmth at her side was the body of her slumbering husband. Eliza smiled at Henry. He was so unimposing in his slumber, the harsh lines of his face non-existent. She pressed a kiss on his forehead, and started to move off of the bed, but a strong arms wrapped about her waist and pulled her back. Eliza grinned when Henry sleepily nestled his face against her curls, sighing contentedly.

"You must still be sleeping. A conscious Henry would never be so affectionate," Eliza teased.

"I will show you 'affectionate'," he grumbled, and with a quick maneuver for someone so sleepy, she was pinned against the mattress, and being kissed quite thoroughly.

Several hours later, the clock read noon, and the pair were hurriedly dressing. The rail to Dover would be departing in less than an hour, and Mrs. Pearce had ordered them a cab that had been waiting for several minutes already.

"Confound your charms, woman! Now we are going to be late," Henry thundered, as they hurried down the stairs.

"I can hardly see where this is my fault! I was going to dress for our journey hours ago, but you had to be a man and detain me!" They bickered back and forth all the way to the taxi, the servants bearing their luggage showing no signs of distress at the fact.

The journey started out as quite exciting to Eliza. It was only the second time she had ever traveled by rail, and it would mark the first time she had crossed the channel. Henry mostly grumbled about how long and tedious the journey to Beaulieu-sur-Mer was going to be, the fact that he hated sea travel, no matter how brief, and that sleeper cars were damned uncomfortable. Eliza was too taken in by her surroundings to pay Henry's rants much attention.

Henry was astonished that Eliza was not green and being sick over the side of the ferry. He had a distant memory of his first sea voyage; There had been an unfortunate incident of him making a mess all over the skirt of his mother's favorite gown. His first voyage had been years ago, before Edward had even been born, but the shame of it was enough to put him off of the sea for life. Eliza didn't even have the decency to appear anxious! There she was, at the front of the ferry, leaning over precariously so that she could get a better view of the sea life.

"Come away from there, Eliza!" She looked over her shoulder, and stuck her tongue out at him. "I am in earnest, damn you!" He ignored the mortified gasps from the other passengers, and crossed over to where Eliza was leaning. "You could fall in, drown, or get diced to bits by the propellers."

Eliza noted that his voice had just a hint of hysteria, and allowed him to assist in stepping down from the railing. "You don't have to act as though I am a child."

"Well, you are certainly acting like one! Leaning over the railing with your petticoats up in the air…"

"They most certainly were not!" She cried. "I only wanted to have a look."

"Well then have a look at a safe distance! I shan't be a widower one day into my marriage."

Eliza raised a gloved hand to stroke his cheek. "Darling, you are far older than I. Naturally I will outlive you, not the other way around."

"You saucy guttersnipe!" Henry grabbed Eliza about the waist, and began to drag her to the railing, despite her shrieking for him to stop. "I shall have to throw you overboard for the insult!"

Eliza wriggled from his grasp, face red, and hat askew. "Cease, or I shall call the authorities and report you for harassing vulnerable young women!" They both burst out laughing, heedless to the curious stares their theatrics were accumulating.

"Newlyweds," one of the other passengers whispered to a companion.

Eliza got a infuriatingly short glimpse of Paris as they were switching rails. Henry had overruled spending their honeymoon in Paris, saying that it was the biggest cliché ever; they would be spending their holiday with millions of other moonstruck couples. It was crowded, besides. It would take hours of standing in line to visit the Louvre, or any other landmark for that matter. "Another time, Eliza."

Henry found the sleeper compartment not as uncomfortable as he thought. Not with Eliza curled up next to him, anyway. The whole day had been marvelous, despite his previous grumblings. He had not taken Eliza's lack of knowledge of the world outside of London into account. It was as if he were experiencing previously mundane things like rails and ferry rides for the first time. It was almost exhilarating! As Henry toyed absentmindedly with one of Eliza's loose curls, he pondered how much he loved the girl. It wasn't the first time the thought had come to him, and likely would not be the last. The real problem was how to convey it to Eliza in a way that she understood, while still retaining his dignity. It was a devilishly tricky phrase to utter, three syllables or no.

Eliza and Henry finally arrived at the cottage, the two of them rumpled and sore from the journey. Eliza was in awe of the charming place, with its tidy trappings and private beach. The first thing she did was remove her shoes and run about the sand.

"At least change into something other than your traveling clothes before you run headlong into the sea!" Henry called out.

Eliza ran back to him, and threw herself into his arms. "It's beautiful! I never imagined how perfect it all was going to be." She kissed him hard, and hurried into the cottage, 'Oohing' and 'Aahing' at every room she passed on the way to the bedroom.

Henry silently thanked the heavens that he would be left alone with Eliza at last. There was no one there to berate him for using too strong of language in front of her, or to spirit her away for silly little plans. There was only going to be the lady who kept up the cottages, and she did not interfere but a few times a day. Glorious solitude.

"Henry, I need your help with all these buttons on the back of my dress," Eliza announced as he entered the bedroom. "There will be no Mrs. Pearce to assist me, so you shall have to be my lady-in-waiting for the whole duration."

He crossed the room to assist her. "Gladly, my pet. Shall I brush your hair and draw you a bath?" Henry leaned in and kissed the back of her neck. "I daresay I've had a look, and the genius architect who designed this place saw fit to make it big enough for two." He grinned wickedly as a crimson blush crept up her neck.

Henry and Eliza passed their days in an idyllic manner. The first few days were spent seeing the sights. Beaulieu-sur-Mer was breathtakingly gorgeous with its old churches and towering views. Eliza, Henry found, was extremely found of the seaside. She took to the water quite naturally, and even managed to coax him to do the same. Their early evenings were spent reading. Henry had seen fit to bring a whole steamer trunk filled with books, and began to teach Eliza foreign languages. It seemed only fitting that she pick up French whilst in France, he had reasoned. Surprisingly, she was open to the concept of cultivating her mind further. Oftentimes she would pore over lesson books until she fell asleep, a volume dangling loosely from her hand, or laying open against her chest. He would always carry her off to bed on nights like that, dutifully helping her don her nightgown before snuggling against her slumbering form.

They had been on holiday for three weeks before Edward's package arrived. It was early in the morning, and Eliza had yet to rise. Henry accepted the parcel from the delivery boy, tipped him, and shut the door in his face.

"Well, let's see what my blackguard brother has sent me." He pulled loose the strings, and tore at the paper.

All the oxygen left the room at once. Ashen-faced, Henry walked into the bedroom where Eliza slept, sat on the chair next to the bed, and watched her, contemplating what to do next.


	17. Catherine's Legacy Après Moi le Deluge

Eliza Doolittle: The Life and Times of a Good Girl

Chapter Seventeen: Catherine's Legacy or Après Moi le Deluge

Author's Note: Please forgive the melodrama; I think I must have been thinking about 'The Forsyte Saga' when I wrote this.

* * *

_My Dearest Cathy,_

_Try as I might, I cannot ignore the rather warm regard I feel for you. Your face has haunted me these past years, stunning me into a heavy, debilitating silence. No more. I cannot keep my heart closed to you any longer, because you are my heart. Please excuse the unpolished sentimentality of my words, I am not accustomed to making known my inner most desires._

_It would be my fondest wish for you to end my suffering and consent to be my wife. I know you will naturally raise concerns about out different positions in life. Let me assure you, I do not care about such things. Society can go to the devil for all I care, as long as I have my Catherine beside me. I will take care of you. We can move your things into 27A as soon as you give me word; Mother will simply have to find a different house-keeper. Perhaps she can keep Mrs. Pearce; I don't believe that old bat likes me anyway, and she is used to taking care of Mother's household, after all._

_I feel as though I am digressing in order to make this letter a lengthy one. Forgive me, I do not what to write that hasn't already been written by minds far greater than my own. I am no poet, although I do admire them. In place of a long, flowery verse, I shall write it down in plain English : I love you._

_Please, do not disappoint me._

_Yours ever,_

_Henry Higgins_

Henry groaned in disgust at the words he read. Throughout the years, he had forgotten the contents of the infamous letter, and for good reason. If his signature hadn't been scrawled so proudly towards the bottom, Henry would've sworn Freddy Hill or some other imbecilic swain had penned it. Surely there was a vast difference between Henry the Man and Henry the Love struck boy. There had to be! Henry couldn't recall, or understand the feelings this young man held.

For the eleventh time since he received the damning parcel, Henry's eyes fell upon the framed photo. Catherine was sitting primly in a gown that Henry recognized from the last time he had ever seen her alive. Her eyes no longer held that special, condescending sparkle. Indeed, they seemed haunted and slightly sunken in. The material evidence of his actions immortalized in sepia hues. Of course, most importantly, there was Eliza. The letter his brother had written along with the parcel explicitly told Henry that the toddler Catherine was holding was, indeed, Eliza. Upon reading that little revelation, Henry had torn the photo from its' frame, and turned it over. Sure enough, Eliza and Catherine's names were scrawled about the back with the date included. The markings were starting to fade, attesting to the authenticity. It was all too cruel a coincidence.

Henry quickly stashed both the letter and the photograph into the nightstand drawer when he noticed Eliza beginning to stir. She blinked sleepily, and gave him a lazy smile that he did not return. "Why are you not in bed?" She asked in a husky voice that was meant to entice. Ordinarily, it would have worked on Henry like a charm.

"I am not in bed, because, I do not wish to waste my day with idleness for once." He inwardly winced at the coldness in his voice.

"It is our honeymoon, Henry. It's an entire occasion dedicated to idle behavior," Eliza replied, undeterred. She scooted closer to the edge of the bed, so that she could reach out a hand and gently rest it on his knee. He sat up abruptly, as though her touch had branded him, upending his chair in the process.

"Henry?"

Henry wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed with her, and kiss away the hurt and confusion in her voice. His heart was willing, but his brain cried, 'Wrong!'. Eliza was Catherine's daughter. More than likely she had been conceived the very night Catherine had ran off to the arms of Alfred Doolittle. The dates matched up.

Good lord, he had ruined her life; robbed her of a comfortable childhood. The image of Eliza, dirty, thin and shivering in Covent Garden haunted him. How he had mocked her dirt, grime and lack of education, when it had been he who had put her in that situation.

Henry had married Catherine's daughter. Made love to Catherine's daughter. His eyes settled on her face, and the resemblance between the two women was enough to stagger him utterly.

"Henry, are you unwell?" He was positively poisoned.

"I am going for a walk, don't you dare follow me," he replied, hoarsely, before beating a hasty retreat.

Eliza stared at the empty entryway for what felt like an eternity. She was utterly stunned at what she had just witnessed. Silently, she got out of bed and dressed for the day. Eliza's mind flew in a million different directions as she brushed through her hair. Had she done something wrong to make him behave thusly? Her eyes were fixed on the reflection of the entryway, mentally willing him to come back and explain. Eliza did the same thing when she was in the kitchen, assisting the housekeeper with breakfast; her ears straining for the sound of the front door opening and his familiar footsteps.

Henry did not show up until after breakfast, and Eliza was beside herself by then. Her stunned silence had transposed into full-blown wracking sobs, as she sat outside near the sea, willing it to swallow her up and drag her away from all the hurt and confusion.

Henry had not noticed her on the beach at first, and was quite alarmed to find her not in the cottage. The weather was turning foul, and the darkening sky had prompted him to return from his wanderings. Henry rushed from room to room, calling out for Eliza. He even flung open her armoire to make sure her clothes were still there, part of him terrified that she had fled at his bizarre behavior.

Finally, he spotted her from the window; a forlorn figure in white chiffon and hair that was being loosened from it's chignon by the wind. Even from a distance he could see that she was sobbing, heedless to the rain that had begun to fall. He cursed under his breath and hurried outside, running to her. Not effortlessly, he managed to gather her into his arms. Eliza had fought him, initially, trying to land a blow with her closed fists. Henry ignored the desperate violence, and tried soothing her temper with apologies and endearments. Finally she quieted in his arms, her sobs calming into hiccups, her head relaxing against his shoulder.

When Henry reached the bedroom, he set Eliza down on her feet, and dutifully began to unbutton her wet clothing. She stood there, silent and shivering for a moment, before turning to face him and bringing her lips to his in a desperate kiss. He had not wanted it to happen thusly, he wanted to calm her down and explain his actions, but in that one bold move, all his plans fell to dust for the moment.

They made love with an intensity that had been unknown to Henry until that point. Eliza clung to him as though he was going to disappear in a puff of smoke at any given moment, and he unleashed his pent-up emotions with a force that was surely hurting her. Had Henry been in a right frame of mind, he would have been conscious of the fact.

Afterwards, when they were panting and silent, Henry turned to Eliza. At that moment, nearby lightening caused the room to be illuminated in platinum, and Henry gave a start when for a split second, Eliza's hair appeared fair, her face glowed white like a spirit. It was as if Catherine were staring lovingly at him.

Henry felt a sickening need to distance himself from all of this. Maybe had been a fool to think that Eliza would understand the truth when he couldn't wrap his mind around it himself. He needed time to separate the two women, and he couldn't do that with her around as a constant reminder.

"Eliza, I am going away."

Eliza narrowed her eyes. "I beg your pardon?"

"I've done some thinking the past few days about Anson Webster's proposal. I believe I am going to book a rail so that I can meet him at the Sorbonne, where the tour is to start."

"Whatever for? I heard you tell him that the idea was completely unappealing to you. It will take you away for at least a year." Eliza's eyes searched his face, trying to seek out the reason for this shocking bit of news. "Will you not take me with you?"

Henry shook his head. "It's no place for you, Eliza. You would be bored to tears by all of us overbearing intellectuals. I think it's better that you enjoy as much of the cottage as you can, and then return to 27A. The household is more than likely in shambles without your touch."

Realization dawned on Eliza. "Jillian Webster is going to be there."

"Well, of course. Anson is so besotted with that ridiculous woman that he can scarcely pick out his ties without her blessing." Her dangerous glare caused him to move away towards the edge of the bed.

"I see." She sat up suddenly, clutching the sheets against her form. "She was so right. You are fleeing to her side."

"What?"

Eliza smiled bitterly. "My unpolished attempts at pleasing you are nothing, stacked up to her considerable wealth of experience. I was a fool to think I had any sway over you." She got out of bed, and donned a robe. She crossed the room and sat down at the vanity, twisting up her hair. "You had better dress quickly to catch that rail. You wouldn't want to keep your lover waiting."

"I was going to wait until tomorrow, once the weather was fair… and I don't care for your accusations!"

"I've no idea why you would possibly want to leave, if not for a lover," Eliza retorted calmly. She turned to him. "I am sorry I was so lacking, but I did remind you time and time again that I was a good girl before I married you. "

Although the reasons that Henry had for leaving were, in fact, reprehensible, the accusation that Eliza was none-too-subtly throwing at him stung with an unbelievable fire.

"I am leaving because I need something to occupy my time!" Henry cried. He stood and grabbed his own robe, pacing the room furiously. "I cannot persist in being idle anymore, I told you as much earlier this morning. I need something to keep my mind occupied, Eliza, I need to work!"

"You would be separated from me for a year, because you need to 'work'? Could you not continue giving lessons out of our home?" Damn her. He knew she was not going to accept this humbly, and quietly, as most wives were expected to.

"This is something that will pay so much more than giving lessons to common rabble," he explained. He regretted his choice of words the moment they left his mouth. He looked away as Eliza's face went from flush to pale in an instant.

"I would like for you to leave," she whispered, hoarsely.

"I did not mean you, Eliza, please-"

"Get out of here!" She cried.

He ducked a hairbrush. "Eliza, the weather…"

"You can wait until doomsday to get on that rail, but you had better do it out of my presence, Henry Higgins!" She was standing now, fists clenched, nostrils flaring. Henry thought it better to retreat as quietly as possible.

"I just need time to gather my belongings, and I will go to a hotel for the night. I am so sorry, Eliza."

She stormed from the door, slamming the door as loudly as she could. Henry found himself pondering how things could have gone so spectacularly wrong without him even revealing the true nature of his behavior.


	18. Without You

Eliza Doolittle: The Life and Times of a Good Girl

Chapter Eighteen: Without You

* * *

He had left her without another word spoken between the two of them. Eliza sat, staring gloomily into the fireplace as Henry went about the cottage, gathering his belongings. She heard his footsteps pause behind the sofa for several agonizing moments, before turning and heading out the front door. She waited for the gently click of the door closing before dissolving into tears once more. Damn him, damn him, damn him!

Rage coursed through Eliza so violently, that she had to bite on her lip to stop from flying about the cottage, breaking things. "So I am rabble once more, am I?" She asked bitterly, between hitching sobs. Eventually, she succeeded in crying herself to sleep on the sofa.

She awoke many hours later, to the sounds of the housekeeper making dinner. Eliza nearly shouted at the poor woman when she put out two place settings. "Just one, tonight. Professor Higgins was called away on business, and shan't be joining me for the remainder of my stay." How carefully Eliza hid her emotional turmoil. She felt as though every bit of life had been sapped from her, leaving a shell. Stealing a glance into the looking glass, Eliza realized that she remembered her mother always having a similar expression on her face. Her face was pale and drawn, the skin under her eyes bruised and purple. Her usually full lips were pressed in a thin line, and slightly pinched. What a difference between that moment and earlier that morning! Not surprisingly, most of her meal was left untouched.

8888

Henry sat alone in his compartment, miserably contemplating the events of the day. He wished he could conjure up Eliza's sweet face without it being clouded by Catherine's mischievous one. Henry thought about his brother, and how absolutely pleased he must be that he finally got his revenge. Never mind that Eliza's happiness got destroyed in the cross fire. Oh, Eliza…

Henry had hurt her so severely, that there was little chance they would reconcile, even after his year away from her. Perhaps he could draw up an annulment for her. Or she could divorce him on the grounds of abandonment. Henry shook his head. He doubted Eliza would go for either options; she would consider the shame to be too great.

He wondered if Catherine was watching him from the afterlife, laughing cruelly at him. He wouldn't put it past her, really. Henry could imagine her, sitting on a throne of gold and ivory, untouched by age or infirmity. Her curls would dance about her face as she laughed, and her eyes would sparkle. "You great fool!" She would cry. So he was.

When he reached Paris, Anson and Jillian were waiting for him. Anson was all smiles and thanks for Henry's change in heart, although he was concerned that Eliza had not accompanied Henry.

"We decided it was unwise," was all Henry had to say on that matter. He noticed that Jillian had a 'cat that ate the canary' look about her smug, aristocratic features. She insinuated herself between the two men, taking an arm each, and trying to make eye contact with Henry the entire way to the taxi.

8888

Eliza's days proceeded in silent misery. There were times where she would not rise from bed until late in the afternoon, ignoring the housekeeper's meal announcements. The poor woman tried to get Eliza to take her meals in bed, but Eliza steadfastly refused anything more than a few bites of dry toast.

Two weeks passed before Eliza realized how desperately she wanted to go home. The climate was becoming unbearable on her health, and most of her attempts at eating were ending in her becoming violently ill in the bathroom. Eliza notified Jane Higgins that she was coming home, wanting to see a friendly face when she got off of the rail.

It seemed the further away Eliza traveled from the Riviera, the more ill she became. She kept herself confined to her compartment, terrified that she had caught some sort of virus. It only went downhill on the ferry ride.

Jane and Edward Higgins waited patiently at the station for Eliza to arrive. Jane was glowing with excitement, Edward oddly subdued. Jane had asked Edward many questions about why Henry was not returning with Eliza, and finally, after evasiveness did not work, Edward sharply told her to mind her own damned business.

Jane nearly fainted at the sight of the colorless creature that stepped off of the train. She looked up at Edward, whose eyes were wide with shock, his mouth slightly agape. Jane was almost certain she saw a glimmer of guilt play across his features, but thought perhaps it was a trick of the light. She gave a concerned cry, and ran to Eliza, careful not to crush the delicate creature with her embrace. "Darling, whatever is the matter?"

Edward noticed that Eliza swayed slightly in Jane's embrace, and thinking quickly, ran to her side before she swooned, falling nerveless into his arms. Jane bit back a shriek at the display.

Eliza awoke in a bed that was not her own. Jane was sitting on a chair nearby, dabbing Eliza's forehead with a cool cloth.

"You fainted at the station, sweeting. You are at our home, and a doctor is on his way to examine you. "

Eliza sat up in bed. "May I have some water, please?" She inquired, hoarsely. Jane nodded, and guided a glass to Eliza's lips. Eliza took the glass herself, and swatted Jane's hand away. "I'm not a baby," she sniped, weakly.

Before Jane could apologize for her coddling, the house-keeper walked into the bedroom and announced that the doctor had arrived. The doctor was a timid, middle-aged man with a good natured smile, and a calm, even voice that soothed. Upon Eliza's insistence, Jane stayed in the room. Eliza found it improper to be examined by a man, especially with no chaperone in the room.

Eliza blushed and stumbled over answers to the doctor's queries. She kept a sheet pulled primly up by her chin the entire time he poked a prodded at her, and her eyes were squeezed shut. Finally, the exam was over, and both ladies looked up at the doctor expectantly.

"You had best bring your husband back from his tour, Mrs. Higgins."

Eliza felt the oxygen leave her lungs at his stern command. "Am I dying?"

He shook his head with a laugh. "No, of course not. But, I would hope your husband would find the news that you are pregnant reason enough to return."

Jane's delighted squeal barely registered with Eliza. Pregnant. That was as good as dying, wasn't it?


	19. Jane is Confused

Eliza Doolittle: The Life and Times of a Good Girl

Chapter Nineteen: Jane is Confused

* * *

Jane kissed her friend's pale, clammy face with a delighted giggle. "How delightful, Eliza!" When she pulled away to observe Eliza's expression, it shocked Jane to note that Eliza did not seem as pleased as she should be. Her eyes were fixed to the wall in a dull, expressionless stare, her mouth unsmiling. It positively baffled Jane that one wouldn't be dancing for joy after such wonderful news. "Eliza?"

"Yes?"

"It is delightful, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes."

Jane looked up at the doctor. "My husband will take care of the bill, he is downstairs in his study. Thank you, Dr. Burke." She turned back to Eliza. "Dearest, you look so upset about it all."

She saw Eliza bite down on her lip before replying, "It is just the strain of the day. If I could have just a few moments alone to process it all, I would be most appreciative."

Jane nodded, and closed the door behind her. She walked a few steps before she heard a wrenching sob come from the guest room. Part of Jane wanted to run back in and comfort Eliza from whatever was troubling her, but she decided it would be best to respect the younger girl's wish to be alone.

All in all, Jane was feeling confused about the whole business. Eliza coming back from her honeymoon without Henry, Eliza being with child but not weeping for joy at the prospect… What on earth was going on?

Babies had always been Jane's greatest joy in life. Up until she had married Edward, she had been told constantly that due to her frail stature, children would most likely be out of the question. Jane, sweet-natured, and lover of all things small and helpless, had been devastated by the fact. Once she and Edward were of courting age, Jane delicately filled him in on her family's misgivings. He had shrugged it off with a winning grin, and kissed her soundly. Edward would have her anyway, and they would see about the children thing. He had been right, of course. Every time Jane held an infant after a long, uncomfortable and potentially life-threatening pregnancy, she felt her heart soar with hard-won triumph.

Edward met Jane on her way down the stairs with a worried expression on his face. "Dr. Burke wouldn't tell me a thing, of course. He told me you stayed in the room with her; What is the matter with Eliza?"

"I cannot tell you, it is for her to say," Jane replied.

Edward took her hand, beseechingly. "Come now, Jane, this is serious."

Jane scowled at him. "Mind your own damned business!" With that, she brushed past him and headed for the nursery. "That's for earlier," she muttered under her breath.

Eliza did not emerge from the guest room until much later, when the rest of the family was settling down for dinner. Jane had invited Colonel Pickering and her mother-in-law over, in hopes that their appearance would lift Eliza's spirits.

"Eliza, wherever is Henry?" Eleanor Higgins inquired, after several minutes of painfully awkward silence.

"Henry decided that he was feeling restless, so he took Anson Webster's offer to tour the European universities as a guest lecturer for the year."

The sounds of utensils clattering against the china from nerveless fingers filled the air. "He didn't!" Cried Eleanor.

"He did."

"What a foolish thing to do, I say! Why didn't he invite you to come along?"

Jane watched uneasily as Eliza blanched. The conversation was clearly veering off into dangerous territory.

"He did not feel it appropriate, and I agreed." Eliza sighed. "I would not like to be away from home so long."

Eleanor seemed pacified by the explanation, but it was not long before another question was laid before Eliza.

"What did Dr. Burke say, if I may be so bold? You are joining us for dinner, so I daresay it is nothing life-threatening, is it?" Edward asked, his eyes glittering with intense curiosity. At the mention of Eliza visiting a doctor, all eyes flew to the girl, seeking answers.

_This is the moment. Oh, how wonderful!_ Jane sincerely hoped that the company's reception of Eliza's news would lift the young woman's spirits.

"I am with child," Eliza replied in a voice no stronger than dry leaves rustling in the wind.

Jane took note of the myriad of reactions at the table. Eleanor was the most ecstatic, flushed pink with the prospect of being a grandmother once more, and embracing Eliza tightly; Edward, who had been acting odd ever since Eliza arrived, looked dazed, as though he could be bowled over by a gentle breeze; Pickering, usually a man Jane regarded as quite jolly, covered his mouth with a hand, as though he were about to be ill, but quickly recovered with a forced grin and a shout of congratulations. Eliza was allowing Eleanor to pet and fuss over her, albeit with the same dead-eyed expression she had been wearing since getting off the train.

"You must send word to Henry at once, Eliza!" Eleanor exclaimed.

Eliza took a deep shuddering breath, and smiled weakly. "No, I see no cause for that."

Jane and the rest of the party, excluding Edward, studied her quizzically, as though she had said the most absurd thing they had ever heard. Jane, for one, could not remember hearing anything so ridiculous in her life, and she had grown up listening to Edward and Henry bicker over some very silly matters.

"Eliza, you are carrying his child," Jane reasoned.

To Jane's astonishment, Eliza shrugged. "I don't believe Henry would fall over himself to come home because of that. When have you ever seen him acting especially fond of children?"

Jane frowned, realizing she could not really think on a particular instance. Her children were fond enough of him, but he had always treated them with the same regard one might someone else's lap dog, or cat. An affectionate pat on the head, with a treat now and then.

"Nonsense. We are not talking about other people's children, Eliza. Henry will naturally want to come home and monitor your health, and see to it that the baby is delivered safely. You must tell him. It is his right as a father to know." Eleanor's soothing, affectionate tone had been replaced by a steely, no-nonsense one. It was a tone that had effectively run a household for well over fifty years.

"Couldn't a mid-wife effectively do the same thing?" Eliza asked, refusing to be bullied into bending to her mother-in-law's will.

"You will write him, or call him, or I will."

It was no surprise to Jane that Eliza shattered under the threat. The party watched helplessly as Eliza dissolved into tears. "I don't know where he is!" The hysterical woman cried.

"What?" Pickering choked.

"The only place he told me he would be at was the Sorbonne. That was weeks ago. I have no itinerary from him, no address to reach him at; He does not want to be contacted!"

A chair screeched against the floor, as Edward stood up from the table and fled the room as though it were on fire. Eleanor and Pickering were too concerned with Eliza's welfare to notice the departure, but Jane did. Strangely, it was Edward's reaction, and not Eliza's heart-wrenching sobs that made Jane feel as though she was sinking into the floor.

"I am going to take Eliza home," Pickering announced as he assisted Eliza out of her chair. "If you would be so kind as to send the servants with her luggage tomorrow." He nodded to Jane.

"Of course, Colonel Pickering, of course."

Eleanor and Jane sat alone at the huge dining table, sharing a look that spoke volumes of the situation at hand


	20. Pickering Worries

Eliza Doolittle: The Life and Times of a Good Girl

Chapter Twenty: Pickering Worries

* * *

Hugh Pickering found himself grasping Eliza's hand in the taxi. Something about the defeated way she held herself made him want to give her every bit of strength he possessed. Eliza's gaze was fixed on the goings on outside the taxi, her lips pressed into a thin, pale line, unspeaking. She did not move her hand away from Pickering's grasp, but her eyes did close momentarily and she gave a pained sigh. The spasm of anguish that skipped across her features was enough to make Pickering want to cross the divide and call Higgins out, friends or not. He would thrash the blackguard the moment he had a chance. Abandoning Eliza and leaving her to travel by herself; of all the stupid, insensitive things!

Eliza's announcement that she was expecting frightened Pickering more than he ever thought possible. It had never occurred to him that Henry and Eliza might produce children! Pregnancy was a dangerous, bloody business, and women died in childbirth every single day. He gave Eliza's figure an uneasy once-over. She was so thin, so delicate, surely the pregnancy would not be an easy one. Her present spirits made it all the more likely. Pickering could not recall seeing her do more than pick at her dinner, and it was clear, due to her hollow cheeks and pinched face, that she had not been eating regularly for some time. Amita had such a hearty appetite throughout her pregnancy… No! he could not let his mind wander to such thoughts.

"I am so frightened, Colonel Pickering." Eliza's voice startled Pickering. She had not spoken since dinner.

"Don't be, my dear Mrs. Higgins, it will all work itself out in the end."

"I think I shall die, in the end." Pickering tightened his grip on her hand, heedless of the fine bones straining against tight skin. He released his hold when she winced in pain.

"Why would you say such a thing?" He inquired, ignoring the fact that it was a very real concern in his mind as well.

Eliza chewed nervously on her bottom lip, her eyes glistening. "I think it is what killed my mother. I remember her expecting my baby brother, and one day me being sent away to a neighbor's house. When I got back, there was a lot of blood-" Eliza paused, and blushed. "This isn't appropriate conversation, Colonel, forgive me."

Pickering shook his head. "I am your friend, Mrs. Higgins. You should not be afraid to confide in me."

"Please don't call me Mrs. Higgins!" Eliza cried, vehemently. She looked down at her gloved hands. "I am sorry… please call me, Eliza. We are friends, after all." Eliza paused with a sigh. "When I thought about my future with Henry, children never entered into the equation. Is that wicked?"

Pickering shook his head. "Nor is it surprising. I doubt Higgins would have encouraged talk of children had the thought ever entered your mind. It was hard enough for him to give up the bachelorhood, I think."

Eliza laughed bitterly. "Indeed. So hard that he married me and took it back up, it seems." She smirked. "At least for another year. Won't he be shocked to come home and find a baby in the house!"

Pickering blinked in astonishment. "Surely we will find Higgins before the baby is born and bring him home, Eliza."

Eliza shook her head. "Don't bother; Give him his precious work, his beloved solitude. He will need to get it while he can, won't he?" Her eyes narrowed. "Perhaps even a last hurrah with Jillian Webster," she added under her breath.

Pickering did not like this jaded, bitter creature before him. A life in poverty and six months of relentless bullying hadn't had quite this effect on her. He had rather thought she was made of stronger stuff. Perhaps Higgins' apparent abandonment had been the straw that broke the camel's back.

"Eliza, if you will permit me to prolong my stay at 27A, I should very much like to make sure you are under the utmost care." What Pickering wanted was to make sure she did not harm herself, or the child. He was bound and determined to ensure that another woman in his life would not die. Surely his affairs in India could wait.

"I do not need coddling, Colonel, but I will not throw you out of my home." Eliza smiled weakly. "I owe so much to you, that I could never deny you such a request."

Pickering sighed inwardly. He did not doubt that Mrs. Pearce would monitor Eliza like a hawk, but it reassured him that he would be given leave to ensure the woman did just that.

"Thank you, Mrs.- Thank you, Eliza."

Eliza went straight to her room when they arrived, undoubtedly fatigued. Pickering pulled Mrs. Pearce aside and informed her of the situation at hand, much to the old woman's shock and horror. Pickering blushed at the language Mrs. Pearce used in regards to Higgins, her Irish brogue coming out full force, now that the master of the house was not around to tease her about it.

"And what do you mean 'she doesn't want us to contact him'?" Mrs. Pearce inquired testily.

"Just that, Mrs. Pearce. I believe Eliza's pride and stubbornness won't allow for Higgins to come running back to her on the news that she is expecting."

Mrs. Pearce huffed. "I don't like it, Colonel, not one bit." She cast a glance up the stairs. "But Mrs. Higgins can be such a virago when crossed. I believe I will respect her wishes in this matter." Mrs. Pearce shuddered. "Especially if she's in a delicate state. You wouldn't know it, but women tend to be a bit on edge when there is a baby on the way."

Pickering smiled sadly. " Thank you for the warning, Mrs. Pearce, I shall be very delicate with Eliza."

Mrs. Pearce laughed. "I am not worried about you, Colonel, I know you are a mild sort of man." She huffed. "I suppose we can be grateful for Mr. Higgins' absence in that respect, can't we?"

Author's Note: So endeth mega update 2010.


	21. Eliza Tears Down a Wall

Eliza Doolittle: The Life and Times of a Good Girl

Chapter Twenty-One: Eliza Tears Down a Wall

Author's Note: So I watched "My Fair Lady" with my best friend today, which naturally caused a writing jag. Enjoy!

* * *

Eliza sat broodingly and looked on as Jane Higgins tried desperately to teach the girl how to knit. "What will the child wear on its feet if you don't learn, Eliza?"

"You've made up about five pairs, trying to teach me. Couldn't I just keep those?"

Jane sighed, setting her work down on the coffee table. "I suppose you could, Eliza. I've just always found knitting for my children sweet and fun, and I thought you would feel the same way."

"My hands are cramped, and I almost took out my eye. I think I've had enough fun for one day." Eliza felt a twinge of guilt for behaving so childishly towards Jane, but she couldn't seem to help it. Every thing set Eliza off, nowadays. She was angry over the hours of nausea, the fatigue, the tears, and most of all, the coddling. Jane and Eleanor Higgins were constantly over, badgering Mrs. Pearce about nutrition and scolding Eliza for being too thin. They all but force-fed her at times. Eliza had violent fantasies in which she would batter the interfering hags with the pillows they insisted on fluffing for her, and chasing them out of the house while wielding a knitting needle.

"Are you tired, Eliza? Do you want me to take you up to your room for a nap?"

Eliza had to bite down on her bottom lip to keep from screaming. It was too much. "Oh! Go away, Jane Higgins, you bloody mother-hen!"

Jane gasped. Not even in her worst mood-swings, had Jane ever resorted to profanity. "Eliza, I am just trying to make you comfortable. I know what a trying time it is, being with child."

Eliza leapt to her feet and began to pace. "Oh, I'm so very comfortable that I could cheerfully drown! No one seems to want to let me do anything on my own anymore, and I can't wait for the day when I am no longer qualified to butter my own toast. Go. Away."

Jane did not linger.

Eliza hazarded a glance at the mirror. Perhaps their concerns were valid. Eliza had been skiving off meals, feeling that it was pointless to eat when nothing liked to stay down. Pickering tried very hard to gently insist that she took care of herself, but next to Jane, he was the easiest to bully.

Eliza covered her stomach with a trembling hand. She was still thin as a reed, but for the slightest bump. It was nearly impossible to tell she was with child, most just thought she was recovering from a debilitating virus. Sometimes, in her darkest moods, she considered it as such. Try as she might, she did not feel the fabled rush of love in regards to her pending arrival. Perhaps the love would come later. Perhaps Eliza would wake up one day, smiling and exuberant, knit for hours, and make conversation with the child growing inside of her.

Eliza warily eyed the pile of yarn on the sofa. With a shrug , she sat down, picked up the needles, and attempted to recall what Jane had taught her. Fifteen minutes of fruitless attempts caused her to hurl the work across the room with a shriek.

Eleanor Higgins armed herself with a business card, and called on her daughter-in-law. The old woman was tired of constantly having her concerns fall upon deaf ears. Eliza simply was not regaining her health as she should be, and Eleanor was suspecting that it was fully from lack of trying. More than that, there was a hint of spite to Eliza's obstinacy, as though she were punishing Henry by willing herself to waste away. It was damned silly of Eliza, and Eleanor was ready to tell her so, with no deference to the girls' delicate feelings.

Eleanor found her daughter-in-law reading in Henry's study. The woman took a few steps towards Eliza, only to step on a tangled mass of yarn and knitting needles. Eleanor picked up the mess with a sigh, and set it on Henry's desk.

"I see you still look as though a strong breeze could blow you away."

Eliza closed her book, and glared up at her mother-in-law. "I've had just about enough-"

"No! I've had just about enough, Eliza. Who do you think you are hurting with this behavior, I ask you? Henry? I don't think it is working, as he has no idea what has been going on for the past two months. I will tell you who you are hurting, yourself, your family, and most importantly, your child."

Eliza looked away from Eleanor, her cheeks pink with shame.

"There's some color, at least. I was beginning to doubt you had any blood left in your veins."

"Stop."

"I will not stop until I am sure you are listening to me, Eliza." Eleanor handed Eliza the business card. Eliza took it, read, and gave Eleanor a quizzical look. "You want to hurt Henry? That's the name of an excellent decorator. I think this study is far too large, and you could do to make room for a nursery, that's what I think."

Eliza smiled for the first time in ages. "Why stop there? I think the master bedroom could be larger. The bathrooms as well."

"That's the spirit, Eliza!" Eleanor sat down next to Eliza, and kissed the young girl on the forehead. "You take down the whole household, if it makes you feel better."

Eliza, Pickering, and the servants were temporarily removed from 27A to usher in a flurry of ladders, hammers and plaster dust. Eliza returned to the house frequently to oversee the work, making easy friends with the contractor, who spoke with a thick cockney accent. In an unguarded moment, Eliza began to converse with him in her old way, much to his astonishment and delight.

Eliza was observing the work being done in the study, when a young man with a sledge-hammer caught her eye. He was about to take down a wall that had once held a long row of Henry's more treasured volumes. Eliza took a deep breath and approached the man. "May I?"

"I beg your pardon, Ma'am?"

"The wall, I want to help. May I?"

The boy looked to the contractor, who merely shrugged. "Of course. I just- well, I ain't used to 'avin' the missus of the 'ouse wantin' much to do wiv things of this nature."

"I suppose I am not your usual 'missus'."

A few moments later, Eliza was poised before the wall, with the young man standing closely behind her. They both held on to the sledge-hammer, although the young man bore most of the weight of it. It was common knowledge amongst the crew that one of the projects was a nursery, so out of fear for Eliza's safety, the task was to be safely monitored as per Pickering's request.

"Alright, missus; One… Two… Three!" At the moment, Eliza did not care that she was merely mimicking the actions of tearing down the wall, while the boy did the work. She felt as though there was only her, a sledgehammer, and a wall. Henry had spent hours poring through the volumes at that wall, his hand tracing the paneling in a loving manner. Now it was a gaping hole, and she was glad she could destroy something he loved.


	22. Jillian Takes Liberties

Eliza Doolittle: The Life and Times of a Good Girl

Chapter Twenty-Two: Jillian Takes Liberties

Author's Note: Sorry about the long wait, dear readers! My beta is a busy young woman this summer, so I eventually asked for the services of a close friend, who will be my temporary beta. Everyone say "'Ello Teckla!". Good.

* * *

It had been six months since Henry left Eliza, and he was not the better for it. He had meant to get away from her, away from the weight of his actions in an attempt to mete out what he was to do next. It had been a fruitless plan. Henry went from landmark to landmark, thinking only of how joyful Eliza would be to experience the sights with him.

He was sitting in a café in Heidelberg, shuddering over the sound of the German language in all of its heavy, plodding glory, when he was approached by Jillian Webster. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at her. The woman had absolutely no subtlety over her mission to resume their affair. He contemplated arming himself with garlic and crosses in an attempt to ward her off.

"How are you enjoying the weather, Henry?" She asked, sitting down across from him.

"It's too damned cold."

Jillian smiled, undeterred by the cold brevity of his response. "I am arranging a skating party, perhaps you would like to join? Anson is still in bed with a cold, and I need a handsome man on my arm."

"I hate ice-skating. Don't let that deter you from your mission, I am sure there is a nice young Herr Schmitz around to twirl you about."

Jillian had the temerity to pout. "Oh! You men are such spoil-sports."

"Sorry, Mrs. Webster, being a spoil-sport is just my nature."

Jillian reached out a soft, gloved hand, and stroked his cheek. "When did I become 'Mrs. Webster'?"

"When you married Anson, I imagine."

"Let me rephrase; when did I become 'Mrs. Webster' to you?"

Henry groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "When I realized that running about with married women is a foolish game. Or perhaps it was when I married my wife."

Jillian laughed cruelly. "Your wife? My goodness! You mention her so infrequently that I completely forgot her entire existence." Jillian smirked. "Have you even written or called her?" When Henry did not respond, she laughed again. "You make a sorry husband."

Henry stood up. "Good day, Mrs. Webster. I think this conversation is at an end."

Jillian stood. "I've offended you! I did not think it possible."

"I am leaving before my impeccable politeness fails me, Mrs. Webster."

Henry started to walk out of the café, but was stopped when Jillian grabbed his arm.

"Unhand me, you are making a spectacle of yourself!"

"Come to my room tonight," Jillian purred, in a low voice that only Henry could hear. Anson had purchased a separate room for Jillian, for fear that she would take ill.

"I've been to your room, the air is rather too stale for my liking," Henry responded. The insult was enough to loosen Jillian's grip on his arm, and he made a retreat.

Henry sat at the desk in his suite, and began writing another letter to Eliza. In total, he had started and discarded over one hundred missives to his wife. Nothing his brain could conjure up seemed worthy of her. Many times he contemplated leaving the tour abruptly, and throwing himself at her feet to beg forgiveness, but the abandonment with the added secret he had not divulged to her made such a feat seem fruitless. He could not forgive himself, asking her to do it for him was insupportable.

How he missed her! Reverting back to sleeping alone had been a chore. It had felt as though he was being deprived of her warm body after years of companionship, not mere weeks. It wasn't just the physical intimacy either; he found he even missed her dreadful snoring!

Henry tore up the unfinished letter, stalked over to the fireplace, sat down at the enormous arm-chair, and drank. As his mind and vision softly blurred, his last coherent thought was that he had left his letter to Catherine, as well as the picture, in the drawer by his and Eliza's honeymoon bed. If he had been sober, the thought of Eliza possibly discovering those items would have sent him into further despair. Alas, port was an excellent numbing agent, and he regarded the revelation with a casual shrug as he nodded off to sleep.

Some time later, the feeling of cool hands stroking his face alerted him to another presence in the room. He responded warmly to the soft lips that pressed against his own, and his arms reached out for the affectionate phantom, pulling it into his lap. "Eliza…" He muttered softly. Henry opened his eyes, certain he was correct. Eliza's hair was not blonde. "Catherine?" Henry was confused, and shoved the phantom from his lap, before leaping to his feet.

Jillian Webster glared at him from the floor she had been thrown onto. "Don't ever call me by another woman's name!" She growled.

Henry swore loudly. "Damn you! I told you I never wanted to renew our acquaintance like this ever again!"

Jillian stood up, smoothing her skirts. "You left the door unlocked. That action led me to believe otherwise."

Henry laughed. "A foolish oversight made you believe you could come slinking in here to molest me?"

"Molest you? You seemed to be enjoying it, Henry."

"Yes, well, I am three sheets to the wind, and I was unaware it was you. Or did you not hear me call out for my wife?"

"You also called out for someone named 'Catherine'." Jillian folded her arms across her chest and managed to look extremely smug. "I suppose you aren't the spotless image of a devoted husband that you led me to believe."

Henry's patience with Jillian was most decidedly at an end. "I want you to leave this tour and go back to England at once," he declared.

"Pardon me? Who are you to order me about?"

"Someone who can raise up a ruckus, and have your husband here in mere moments."

"I will tell him you were the one taking liberties."

"Oh you will, will you? I was taking liberties with you, against your will, in the comfort of my own rooms? Did I bash you over the head and drag you here by your hair?"

Jillian grew very pale, the air of triumph fading from her aristocratic features. "You wouldn't cause such a scandal."

"Oh, you've known me for many years, Mrs. Webster. Do I strike you as a man who cares for the opinion of society? You, on the other hand, care a great deal, don't you? A cut in public from a society matron would devastate you, a snub from a ball or garden party would destroy your whole world, would it not? These things are important to you, not to me."

Jillian bowed her head in defeat. "What shall I tell Anson?"

Henry shrugged. "Tell him the continent is a bore. Tell him you want to be back home with your friends and your familiar comforts. I don't care, honestly. I just don't want to see you haunting these halls any longer. Go home."

Jillian departed, leaving Henry triumphant, but missing Eliza more than ever.


	23. Counterpoint

Eliza Doolittle: The Life and Times of a Good Girl

Chapter Twenty-Three: Counterpoint

* * *

Eliza admired the handiwork of the nursery she had commissioned. Everyday, new furniture and toys appeared. Strangely enough, most of the additions came from Eliza's father. Alfred had positively beamed with pride when he found he was to be a grandfather. It was almost disturbing to witness.

"_You mean you're happy_?" Eliza had asked, eyes wide.

"_It's me legacy, Eliza! The Doolittle line will go on, and I 'ope it's a boy."_

"_The baby will be a Higgins, Dad."_

Alfred just shrugged, and gave Eliza a sound kiss on the forehead. _"No matter."_

Eliza shook her head at the memory. Alfred had sent her a rocking-horse, a bassinet, numerous balls, blocks, and games, and a doll-house just in case she was carrying a girl.

Eliza's health had improved drastically. Now the figure in the mirror was of a woman blossoming in the eve of her seventh month of pregnancy. There were roses in her cheeks, contrasting dramatically with her porcelain complexion. Her ballooning midsection had caused her many hours of vain tears, especially the ugly marks that resembled red vines creeping up her stomach. Jane had given her a cream that reduced the marks considerably, Mrs. Pearce had scolded her for bemoaning the state of her figure, and assured Eliza that all would be as it was before soon after the baby was born… with a few minor alterations, of course.

Mrs. Pearce walked into the nursery, and announced that Mrs. Anson Webster had arrived and was requesting an audience. Eliza frowned, but informed Mrs. Pearce that she would receive the visitor in

the study.

Jane Higgins sat in her parlor knitting, smiling softly at Edward, who read the paper, unaware of his admirer. Jane was so happy. Eliza was finally warming up to the idea of motherhood, and her additions to 27A were positively charming. The only thing missing from Jane's idea of perfection was Henry. Oh well. He would come back to Eliza in a matter of months, and then everyone would be so divinely happy. Jane hummed a jaunty tune.

"You are rather chipper today, my darling," Edward remarked.

"I am, sweetheart. I was just thinking about how wonderful everything will be when Henry returns." Edward gave her a pained look, and went back to his paper.

A knock on the door caught both their attention. It was the butler's day off.

"I will get it, darling!" Jane chirped. She ruffled Edward's hair affectionately on the way to the front door.

Jane smiled at the delivery boy, and accepted the beaten up parcel. She walked to the study for a pen-knife, and dutifully cut the strings. "What a strange looking thing," she remarked. It was sent from Beaulieu-sur-Mer. A letter attached explained, in broken English, that it was found at a honeymoon cottage, and the address of the couple that had temporarily resided there was unknown. Naturally, they decided to mail it to the original sender, in hopes that perhaps, they would be so kind to redeliver it to the original recipients.

"Edward must have sent this to Henry and Eliza," Jane muttered to herself. Curiosity getting the better of her, Jane delved into the contents. An old photograph, and two letters. "Curiouser and curiouser," Jane quoted, before beginning to read the older looking letter.

Eliza sat across from Jillian Webster, smirking at the older woman's astonishment.

"Why, Mrs. Higgins, you are with child!"

Eliza nodded. "Well spotted, Mrs. Webster."

"Henry's?"

"Of course." Eliza bristled.

Jillian covered her mouth with an gloved hand. "Does he know?"

Eliza sighed. "How can he, Mrs. Webster? You know as well as I that we've had no contact in months. Why are you not with him right now, I wonder?"

Jillian shrugged. "The continent was a bore," she recited.

"So he moved on to another amour?"

Jillian sputtered at this. "I beg your pardon?"

Eliza regarded the woman, tilting her head to one side. "Come now. I am well aware of your past with my husband, I naturally assumed you both had taken up again. Don't tell me I am mistaken?"

"You are! I don't know where you heard such filthy rumors, but they are false!"

"I heard them from your own mouth, Mrs. Webster, at the engagement party. You were not aware I was listening."

Jane's hands trembled as she placed Edward's letter to Henry down on the desk. Everything made sense now. Henry's absence, Edward's guilty demeanor. Jane supposed that Eliza was not aware of this little turn of events. Such treachery, and between brothers! Jane straightened her spine, gathered the damning evidence, and headed back to the parlor.

"You were gone for a while, sweeting. Who was at the door?" Edward looked up from his paper, only to dodge a flying picture frame. "I say!"

"You duplicitous monster!" Jane screamed, her pretty features contorted in crimson rage.

Edward jumped to his feet. "Whatever are you speaking of?" He stole a glance to where the frame had landed, and blanched at the sight of the photograph.

"You knew! All this time, you knew! You watched our sister-in-law waste away to nothing, grieving a husband that ran off on her for no reason, and you knew why the entire time!" Jane crossed the room and brought her hand across Edward's cheek with a resounding crack. "Bastard! She could have died!"

Edward tore at his hair in frustration. "What he did to Catherine was insupportable!"

"And what you did to her daughter was inhuman!" Jane spat back. "Didn't you think, for one moment, what repercussions your little revenge plot would have? Your Catherine is dead, and unable to thank you for coming to her aid, although I doubt she would if she could."

Tears sprang to Edward's eyes. "What am I to do, then?"

"That was a long time ago, Mrs. Higgins. The professor and I have not renewed our acquaintance for some time. Certainly not since he married you." Jillian sneered. "Although, there may be something in regards to another 'amour' as you put it. "

Eliza stiffened. "Do tell."

"Only that I hear tell he calls out for 'Catherine' in his sleep. Are you at all acquainted with anyone of that name?"

"How would you know who he calls out for in his sleep?"

Jillian laughed. "Oh, that man will fall asleep anywhere when he is in his cups. I hope the fact that you've married a bit of a drunkard doesn't bother you." Jillian studied her nails. "Although, it shouldn't. I've heard it said that you've grown up around worse, and that you started out in a very old vocation. Perhaps, the oldest one there is."

The insult hit Eliza like one of her father's ringing slaps to the face. Many derogatory things had been levied at Eliza throughout the years, from high and low society alike, but not since the night her father had attempted to sell her wares to a drinking companion had such an implication been used in regards to herself. It was, to Eliza, the most shameful thing to be called. 'Whore' hung between the two women, heavy and ominous. Too low a word to even be uttered aloud.

It was no surprise to Eliza, then, that her temper burst free with reckless abandon. Several servants had to be called to pull the pregnant woman off of Jillian Webster, whose elegant blonde chignon had been ripped loose, with one eye scratched, and the other blackened. She fled from the house without so much as a by-your-leave.

Jane did not know how to answer Edward's question. What was he to do, indeed? What could possibly be a suitable reparation for Eliza? Jane picked up the picture frame, and studied it. Eliza was so content in her own way, now that the shock of Henry's leaving had faded. Would it be right to inform her of this little bit of history? Jane looked at her husband, he was tearful and contrite.

"We must find Henry," Jane announced.

Edward nodded in agreement.

"By 'we', I mean you, of course, and you must leave immediately."

Again, Edward nodded.

"I will find an appropriate moment to explain to Eliza what has happened. Meaning, I will tell her about your scheme, and about her mother's past affiliation with this family. At the very least I will give her the photograph."

Another nod.

"Good. Now, prepare yourself for travel, there is not a moment to lose."

Jane marveled at how easily she had handled Edward. Any other time, he would have taken offense at her domineering attitude, but now, he was all too willing to be shown a way to set things right.

With Edward furiously packing, Jane decided to sneak off to 27A. Something told her that the truth could not wait, and she armed herself thusly with the letters and the photograph. When she arrived, Jane was astonished to find the house somber and dreary. The servants moved about slowly and quietly, as though sleep-walking. Mrs. Pearce approached Jane, her lips pressed into a grim line.

"I am afraid Eliza will not be well enough to receive anybody."

Jane gasped. "Why ever not?"

Mrs. Pearce gently explained the events of the past two hours. Eliza had excited herself terribly when she attacked Jillian Webster, and soon after, experienced crippling pain in her stomach. The doctor had been summoned, and after a while he had managed to calm Eliza's pain. However, the episode had forced the doctor to institute a strict bed rest order. There would be no visitors for at least a few days, to be safe, and once visitors were allowed, no one would be encouraged to say or do anything to incite Eliza's temper.

Jane now knew that such a revelation as the one she came bearing would be impossible to deliver.


	24. Missing Letters

Eliza Doolittle: The Life and Times of a Good Girl

Chapter Twenty-Four: Missing Letters

* * *

By the second week of bed-rest, Eliza began to refer to every resident in 27A as her 'jailers', and Doctor Burke as "That Fussy Old Woman'. She did not feel as though she was suffering from a dangerous pregnancy, but merely dangerous boredom. For a while, even her reading materials had come under scrutiny. Colonel Pickering had suggested that certain works may excite her mind, and raise her blood pressure to dangerous levels. Gustave Flaubert was strictly forbidden; 'Madame Bovary' was pried from Eliza's unwilling grasp. Pickering suggested she read some nursery rhymes and fables, in order to prepare for motherhood. In a show of spirit, Eliza suggested he go to the devil.

When the ban on outside visitors was lifted, Eliza found herself besieged by somber relatives. Jane seemed to want to look everywhere but Eliza's face when she came calling. Eliza's questions about Jane and Edward's welfare were met with baffling evasiveness. Edward was traveling, Jane had told Eliza, the particulars of this journey were not elaborated on. Eliza did not like Jane's fidgety mannerisms; they gave off a distinctive air of guilt.

Even worse, in Eliza's mind, was the utterly careful way Alfred Doolittle behaved around her. He visited once in the afternoon, waiting patiently in the sitting room while Eliza was carried downstairs, placed in a wheelchair and brought to his presence. The reverent way Alfred kissed her forehead, with unshed tears in his eyes, left Eliza bewildered and slightly ill-at-ease.

"What ever is the matter, Dad? Is Glenna ill?"

Alfred shook his head, while staring down at his hands. "Every time I looks at you, all sick wiv child, I think of your muver."

Eliza's attention was piqued at the mention of her mother. "I remember so little of her. Sometimes, little snippets of memory come to me, but it is always fleeting images."

"Too good for the like of me, she was. I fink I killed 'er."

Eliza observed her father's stricken face, and felt an inkling of sympathy for the man. "Why would you say that?" She asked, even though the image of her father striking her mother loomed about in her mind.

"I was a brutal man, Eliza. I admit it freely, I do." Eliza gave a start when Alfred grabbed her hand. "I wanna do right by you, late in the game as it is. I wanna apologize for everythin'."

Eliza gaped. Here was her amoral father, who could spin his way out of any situation without breaking a sweat, never issued an apology in his life that Eliza could recall, throwing himself at her mercy.

"Dad-"

"I 'it 'er when she was pregnant wiv my son. I killed 'em both."

"Please, Dad, stop!" Eliza pleaded. A stirring from behind the door told her that someone was listening in, and that someone was on their guard. "If I forgive you right now, will you promise not to go on about it anymore?"

Alfred nodded, and wiped at his eyes with a handkerchief. "'Scuse me, Eliza. I know yer poorly, and I oughtn't trouble you wiv things that already passed." He smiled. "Now you got that photograph, an' you can remember fonder times wiv' Catherine, you can."

Eliza frowned. "What photograph, Dad?"

Alfred sighed. "I didn't want you to know my part in it, but I gave your bruver-in-law a picture of you an' your mum, and a letter what once belonged to 'er. 'E gave it to you, didn't 'e?"

Eliza's suspicions were aroused. Why would Edward withhold something like that? "Oh, that photograph! Of course he gave it to me, Dad. I keep it on my nightstand, and the letter is in my escritoire."

"What?"

"My writing desk."

Alfred nodded. "Never did 'ave much patience for writin' and the like." He patted her hand. "I'm right proud of you, improvin' your mind like you are." He cleared his throat. "I know I didn't like it before, when you was little, but-"

"Bygones, Dad."

"Right."

When Alfred left, Mrs. Pearce entered the room with Eliza's tea. "That man, I don't know why we even receive him!" she grumbled, unfolding a napkin over Eliza's lap.

"He is family, that's why," replied Eliza, sharply. Mrs. Pearce quickly apologized, terrified of raising Eliza's ire. Eliza understood that it wasn't out of fear of her temper that the servants walked on eggshells around her, it was the consequences of her temper.

Eliza felt slight guilt over the way she somehow behaved out of boredom towards the household staff. If she were feeling particularly overcome with tedium, a game of "I Can't Eat That, It's Too Hot/Cold/Salty/Bland, Please Take It Back And Fix It" would ensue. It wasn't as if there were anything else to amuse her. She spent most of her days in bed, lying on her side, only allowed to leave for bathing and other bathroom matters. Only recently was she allowed to be pushed about the house in a wheelchair, with occasional trips outside to sit in her garden. Eliza hated the restrictions placed on her, even though she understood the need for them from a medical standpoint; and Henry still did not return.

It wasn't that Eliza expected her husband to walk through the door any sooner than promised, it was more that she ardently wished it, despite the manner in which they parted. She dearly missed their lively conversations, and even his boyish bullying. Mostly, she missed him. Undoubtedly, Henry would make the unbearable months ahead far more interesting. Certainly _he_ would not cosset and fuss over her condition; Henry never treated her like she was made of glass.

Eliza sighed, and then turned her mind to the matter of the photograph. That Edward would willfully withhold something so innocuous as a simple photo and letter was truly baffling. She wondered briefly, if it had anything to do with him traveling. She brushed off the thought with a shrug. Surely the two things were not connected.

Anson Webster was reading a letter from his wife over breakfast. A particular passage made him chuckle, the thing being such a ridiculous statement.

"What is it, Anson? Did she set the household on fire trying to bake one of her awful cakes?" Henry inquired, his tone indifferent. Their tour had now taken them to Salamanca. _Spain_, Henry thought bitterly. All they needed was a little bit of rain to top off this heavy reminder of Eliza.

"Oh no! Nothing like that. She mentions your little wife, however." Anson cleared his throat, and read. "'My, how Eliza Higgins has grown!'" He laughed again. "I thought your wife was well in her twenties, how on earth can she grow?"

Henry's indifference changed to genuine curiosity. _How indeed? _He had a feeling this statement had a deeper meaning. Jillian would not remark on a visit to Eliza unless she was sure Henry would hear about it. _What the devil could she mean, grown? _"Odd. I suppose she doesn't elaborate?"

"Hmmm? Oh, apparently she means 'fat', because she goes on to say if she had not been sure she was standing in 27A, she 'would not have known Mrs. Higgins for all her roundness.'"

"Tosh! Your wife is being catty, I am sure of it. Eliza gluts herself regularly and never gains an ounce."

"Jillian? Catty? It would be against her character if she was, I daresay."

Henry said nothing. _Let the old fool wallow in his delusion, if it makes him happy. _Henry continued to listen to Anson wax poetic about his sublime spouse for a while, resisting the urge to either roll his eyes or cheer at the news that Jillian had taken a tumble down some icy stairs and blackened her eye.

"Perhaps your Eliza is with child," Anson suggested out of the blue, causing Henry to choke on his orange juice.

"How on earth did you come to that conclusion?"

"It wasn't hard, I assure you. The cryptic comments about Eliza growing and being so round. Jillian has never given me children, but I am told that women tend to 'grow' during the process, so to speak."

Henry shook his head. "I've never heard anything so ridiculous in my life." His voice came out weak and full of doubt.

Anson chuckled. "Maybe so. You, a father? Terrifying prospect, old boy."

"Just so."

Henry felt cold. Something in Anson's theory had a ring of truth. If it were so, Henry was doubly damned for leaving her.

"And surely Mrs. Higgins would write or call you over a matter such as that."

"Indeed." _Had she a way to reach me._

Henry retired hours later with a snifter of brandy, intending on getting good a soused, as was his custom of late. Visions of Eliza, round with child, skipped around his mind. Was it possible?

An hour into his nightly ritual, he felt a cold hand on his shoulder. With a start, he turned his head and looked up.

"Oh, it's you."

* * *

Edward lay in the sleeper compartment of the train, staring out into the night with wide, sleepless eyes. He felt a cold breath against his ear, and turned.

"Hello, Edward," came the long-forgotten honeyed tones of the intruder.


	25. The Ghost and Mr Higgins

Eliza Doolittle: The Life and Times of a Good Girl

Chapter Twenty-Five: The Ghost and Mr. Higgins or Family Reunion Part One

Author's Note: Here is the next volley of new chapters! I hope you enjoy... and also review if you did(or didn't).

* * *

"I haven't slept in days, you must be a figment."

The ethereal face of Catherine Higgins broke into a gentle smile, revealing a row of perfect white teeth. "Perhaps, Edward. I may be a mixture of guilt and sleep deprivation, or I may be an honest to goodness spirit. It doesn't matter, I suppose. What matters, is that you are staring me right in the face; I am here."

"If I close my eyes, you may disappear." Edward flinched when Catherine's cool hand came up to brush a stray strand of hair from his eyes. It felt like his forehead was being caressed by an ice cube.

"Oh, I don't know. I think I will disappear when I've given you a piece of my mind, that's what I think." Her fine features darkened. "You did a bad thing, Edward. My sweet, sweet boy. How could you?"

"I did it for you."

Catherine shook his head. "It was for me that you broke my child's heart?"

"You would have your daughter marry the man that had you turned out into the streets?"

Catherine could hit quite hard for a ghost that was lying on her side. "Is it for you to decide whether I would approve of such a thing? You are not me, nor are you Eliza's father!" Her features softened when Edward rubbed his sore cheek. "Darling, you know so little of your brother. I have been watching him for ages. He's apologized to me constantly in his sleep, his conscience has haunted him far more efficiently than I ever could."

"Yet, he did nothing to rectify the situation."

Catherine gave a frustrated sigh. "You fool. Did you know I conceived Eliza my first night with Alfred. Do you honestly think that your mother would keep on a pregnant ladies maid? Especially one whose choices were a husband that was an uneducated dustman or no husband at all? Either way, I would have been in disgrace. There was no way to rectify the situation."

"There are ways to take care of unwanted children, I've heard."

Catherine's eyes filled with tears. "Oh, how could you? Even after knowing my girl, you make such a suggestion! Would you have Jane destroy her babies?" Catherine slapped Edward's hand away when he tried to lay it on her shoulder. "I have made such a decision, and it killed me."

Edward watched in horror as the specter of Catherine continued to sob. "I thought it was a miscarriage that killed you."

"No. But, I swear, if you tell Eliza differently, I will haunt you until the day you die, and it shan't be pleasant!" A violent red color began to bleed over the blue in her eyes, and her complexion darkened to a grayish-black hue.

Edward nodded, fright seizing him. "I swear, Catherine! I won't speak a work on it." He sighed in relief when she returned to normal. "But why are you here? I am on my way to retrieve my brother as we speak. My wife lit into me like a fury and packed my bags."

Catherine smiled. "I just wanted you to understand fully, why you are doing this. I also wanted to tell you that I didn't appreciate the actions you made in the name of my honor. I was quite happy that Henry and Eliza found each other, both of them lost for so long. It is imperative that you bring them together once more."

"It would be easier if I knew where he was. But if you are indeed a figment, you would not have such an answer."

Catherine shrugged. "I suppose you will just have to go to the Grand Hotel Don Gregorio in Salamanca to see if I exist in only in your mind."

Edward swore under his breath. "I will have to alter my entire course on the words of a specter."

Catherine chuckled. "I am now a specter and not a mere figment?" She pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Believe me, or don't believe me, it is your choice." With that, she vanished.

If sleep eluded Edward before, it certainly would not come now.

"Oh, it's you."

"Indeed." Edward swayed on his feet, fatigued from his long journey.

"How did you get in?"

"You left the door unlocked. I swear, Henry, aren't you afraid of being murdered in your bed? You've never been good at keeping a domicile secure."

"What are you even doing here?" Henry was in no mood for small talk. His lapse in security was his own damn business.

"I've come to collect you," Edward replied through a yawn.

Henry's eyes widened in astonishment. "Oh really? On whose orders?"

"Jane's. Catherine's too, if you will believe it. I am only saying that because I've had no sleep in days, and I fear I've no filter between my brain and my mouth. So, get up, and pack your things. Quickly now, old boy."

"One moment please. You are telling me your wife, and a woman who has been dead for years, sent you to fetch me?"

"That's right."

Henry roared with laughter. "My god! How very amusing, Edward!" He sipped from a tumbler once his hysterics passed. "Have you been drinking, sir?"

"No, but I see you have."

"That's my business."

"Catherine forgives you, and Eliza is ill."

Henry jumped from his chair. "How dare you come in here after what you've done, and spout out such outrageous lies?"

"They are not lies. How do you suppose I found you, if not with aid from the beyond?"

"Jillian Webster, that old spider. She is probably bitter with me and to send someone equally so to taunt me."

"Think what you want. Only know that I am sorry for what I have done, sincerely sorry. I did not realize that such an action would hurt someone other than yourself. Eliza's grief quite mortified me. I thought she would die." He coughed. "She still might."

Henry felt a myriad of emotions rush over him, and it had a definite sobering effect. Another death on his conscience. Could he ever escape from his actions? "What is the matter with her?"

"She is having a difficult time with- Henry, she is with child, and the stress of the past few months has put her in a very precarious situation."

Henry sat down, and stared ahead numbly, suffocating under the weight of confirmed suspicions.

"She wants you back, even if she is too proud to admit it." Edward's eyes filled with tears. "If she dies, it will be my fault, brother. Please, just come back to England with me."

Henry lifted his head to meet his younger brother's eyes, and felt a long-forgotten surge of affection for Edward. They were both on the same page at last, on the verge of sharing guilt over the same crime. They both forgave each other of past actions without saying a word, and Henry began to pack. He was going back to his wife to throw himself at her skirts and plead for her forgiveness, utterly destroying the cold, indifferent picture of himself he had meticulously painted over the decades.

The truth would come after the baby was born, once Eliza was out of danger.

* * *

Jane Higgins was reading to Eliza from a forbidden copy of 'Moll Flanders', when the younger woman gently pulled the volume from Jane's hands and set it down.

"Jane, do you know anything of a photograph and a letter that was given to Edward, to be given to me?"


	26. Family Reunion

Eliza Doolittle: The Life and Times of a Good Girl

Chapter Twenty-Six: Family Reunion Part Two

* * *

Jane was taken aback. When Edward had called her earlier that week, she had updated him on Eliza's condition, and he begged Jane to wait on revealing the truth to her.

"_I will find Henry, and we will let him tell her the truth when she is out of danger."_

"_Of course, Edward! Do you really think I would endanger Eliza and the baby by revealing something so damaging to her now?" A thought came to Jane. "Edward, do you really think it is wise, bringing Henry home now? The shock may be too much for Eliza."_

"_Pardon?"_

"_Well, perhaps all it would take for Eliza would be Henry's presence. She's not exactly happy with him right now, is she?"_

"_Woman, you sent me on this errand, practically at knife-point, and now you don't think it is such a good idea?"_

"_Oh, Edward!"_

"_I will see you soon, with Henry."_

Jane was a terrible liar as a general rule, always had been. Everything she had ever tried to hide always seemed to be sketched in bold letters on her sweet little face. Heat flared up her cheeks and she looked away, feeling Eliza's keen eyes searching her for signs of deception.

"You do know something, Jane."

"Eliza, I don't know what you are-"

"Don't even finish that sentence! It reeks of untruth, Jane, and you know it."

Jane closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. "I have the photograph and the letter."

In that moment, Eliza gripped Jane's hands in hers with brutal strength, her eyes wild. "Why? Why on earth are you both keeping them from me?" Eliza hissed. "Surely you realize you have no right?"

"It is complicated, Eliza. They may upset you, and I don't want to harm you or the child." Jane winced in pain as Eliza's grip tightened.

"I am upset now, don't you realize?"

"Yes! Eliza, you are hurting me!"

Eliza released her hold on Jane and blinked, as though stepping out of a trance. "I just want to see them, Jane. I barely knew my mother, and I wasn't even aware a photograph existed."

Jane nodded. "But you must stay calm, dearest. The letter will answer many questions, but you have to be certain you are ready for them."

"Questions about what?"

"Henry leaving."

Eliza narrowed her eyes. "Why on earth would a letter of my mother's tell me why Henry left?"

"You will see. Just, get some rest, and I will go fetch them this instant." Jane pressed a kiss to Eliza's forehead. "Dearest, you must prepare yourself."

"I want to know, Jane. Please."

Jane returned with the items, and hesitantly dumped them onto Eliza's lap. Eliza picked up the photograph, and smiled, tracing her fingers along the surface. "She was so beautiful."

"Yes, I do remember her being lovely," Jane replied, causing Eliza to meet her eyes with an alarmed look.

"You remember?"

"Read the letter."

So she did. Jane squirmed as she witnessed Eliza's silent reading of the letter. The moment she feared came quickly, as Eliza's eyes lit upon the signature on the letter. The younger girl's face became bloodless, and she took a few deep breaths, as though trying to keep herself calm. Eliza set down the letter and looked up at Jane, questions still burning in her eyes.

"What is this?"

Jane proceeded to give Eliza a history lesson. She explained Catherine's role in the Higgins household, a role that had started when Jane and Edward were mere childhood friends. She conveyed Edward's version of events, albeit more gently, ending with Catherine's exile at Henry's hands.

"Oh, God," was all Eliza could manage.

"I am so very sorry that my husband felt the need to drag this into the open. It would have been better if he had left it buried, but he has held a grudge with Henry all these years over it." Jane worried when Eliza fell silent, a brooding look on her features. "Eliza, I am so sorry."

"Please stop apologizing or I will scream loud enough to bring the house down. I don't want your sympathy, Jane Higgins, I just want to be left alone."

"Oh, Eliza…"

"Please, go away. I will not ask so calmly the next time."

Caught between comforting her friend or preventing an outburst, Jane choose to leave.

Eliza sat alone in her bed, willing herself not to scream. She looked down at her stomach and caressed it lovingly. "I will not get upset, little one," she swore.

Henry had been in love with her mother. Henry had thrown her mother out into the streets, into the arms of Alfred Doolittle. How easy it would be to blame Henry for Eliza's lot in life, her miserable childhood, her cold nights in an uncomfortable bed, shivering under insufficient covering. It would be all to easy…

_Either way, you would have been the daughter of Alfred. Henry did not push the two together, your mother went to him, _Eliza's conscience rationalized. _Besides, you are judging the man based on actions took when he was practically a boy. Are you the same person you were a decade ago, even a year ago? _Eliza brushed off her conscience. She wanted to hate Henry for just a little while. After all, he had learned the truth and fled from it, like a coward. She could not forget that horrible first night after he left. Eliza had wept so hard that there were times she feared the force would cause her heart to break out of her chest, or at the very least fracture a few ribs.

Yes, despite the sound rationale of her mind, there were still instances that caused her to deeply hate him.

Henry and Edward arrived at the younger Higgins' residence late at night. The servants were all abed, and Jane was reading quietly in the parlor, as if knowing they were to arrive. She looked up from her reading with a soft smile on her lips and a glow in her eyes.

"Edward!" She cried softly, before setting down her book and running to his arms.

Henry stood apart from the reunited pair, feeling very much uncomfortable with their show of affection. "How is Eliza?" Henry asked, by way of distracting the two of them from their amorous raptures.

Jane released Edward from her embrace, and swiftly averted her eyes to the floor. "She knows."

"About what? Henry coming home?"

Jane shook her head, and cringed in anticipation of Edward and Henry's reaction.

"Badly done, Jane!" Edward thundered. " I told you to keep quiet on the subject until Henry could tell her!"

"Shush! Do you want to wake the whole household?" Jane inquired. She gave a look of desperation to Henry, who appeared ashen. "She suspected, and then questioned me about it; Do you recall what a terrible liar I am? She sniffed out the deception like a blood-hound!"

"How did she take the revelation?" Henry asked, as if fearing the answer.

"She was calm, but upset. She sent me away, and hasn't received visitors since. That was about a week ago."

Henry sighed and covered his face with his hands, utterly exhausted and defeated. It was going to be worse than he thought, their little reunion.

"Perhaps you ought to stay here a few days, old chap. At least until Jane can report that Eliza is receiving visitors again."

Henry shook his head. "No. I can't run anymore, Edward." He nodded to Jane. "I am leaving. It was nice to see you again, Jane. Don't blame yourself for this; Eliza has always been far too sharp for her own good."

The couple waved as Henry began his trek back to 27A.

The house was dark and silent as Henry made his way up the stairs. Something about the house seemed vastly different, even in the darkness. Henry supposed he had been away so long that he had simply remembered it being larger than it was. He looked towards the door to his study. In the morning, he would lose himself in the old familiarity of his favorite room, but for now, sleep.

He carefully opened the door to the master bedroom, making sure the hinges would not creak and announce his presence. His eyes fell on the sleep form of his wife, illuminated by the soft glow of the lamp she had kept burning. Henry did not remember Eliza being fearful of the dark, but appreciated the effect of the gentle light all the same. It gave his wife an ethereal appearance, as though the glow was coming from within. She had rounded out beautifully, he thought. Edward had always complained about the weight that Jane would gain during pregnancy, and Henry had to agree that his sister-in-law never wore the condition gracefully. Here, though, was a fertility goddess. His eyes did not see the dark bruises beneath her eyes, or the slight swelling in her hands. He saw only the vision of the woman he so desperately loved and missed, carrying their child alone, but bravely, like a warrior princess.

"Oh, Eliza." Henry's whispering voice was heavy with emotion, and he never felt so close to weeping and atoning as he did at that very moment. With a heavy heart, he crossed the room, and crawled into the bed next to her. He did not remove his clothing, only intending on holding her for a few moments before heading to the guest room for the rest of the night. How quickly sleep overcame him.


	27. Oh, Penelope!

Eliza Doolittle: The Life and Times of a Good Girl

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Oh, Penelope!

Author's Note: This is the last update for a while. My associate Teckla, and I, did some quick mathematics and have concluded that Eliza is roughly halfway through her eighth month at this point. Just in case you were wondering, but didn't have the time to research rail travel and postal delivery of the early twentieth century.

* * *

Henry awoke with a jolt, roused by the violent stirrings from his wife. After cursing himself for falling asleep, he wrestled with the urge to comfort her, to pull Eliza from the unsettling nightmare she was experiencing. Henry was certainly not the authority on comforting upset females, and he had a feeling that if she awoke from her sleep to see his face, it would ultimately do more harm than good.

"Henry…" came Eliza's soft whimper. She turned in her sleep in such a manner that Henry could see the tears escaping from beneath her closed eyelids.

"Damn it all," Henry swore. Shrugging off thoughts of consequences, Henry pressed a kiss to Eliza's forehead, and pulled her against him. "There, there, sweetheart." He winced at the endearment, which sounded false coming from his own lips. "See here, Eliza. I want you to stop that banshee-like wailing at once." There.

To Henry's astonishment, Eliza did not awake at the soft scolding, but smiled softly. The unexpressed love he felt towards his wife came to him in a heady rush, and he decided it would be unwise to linger. He would alert Eliza of his presence in the morning.

Henry escaped to his study completely unnoticed. What he saw there made his jaw fairly drop to the floor. Someone had stolen half of his study!

His eyes scanned the newly truncated space, disbelievingly. His study had always been the pride and joy of his home. Henry had meticulously built up the book collection over the years, and fairly scoured London for the proper furnishings. He remembered laboring over a drafting table, designing the layout of his study when first Henry moved in to 27A. Every singly corner of the room had been redesigned to his precise specifications. Now he could barely recognize it. The shelves had been pushed back together in a disorganized clutter, and some of his books lay in wooden crates, as there was no more room to contain them.

Henry looked across the room to an unfamiliar door. Whatever was behind it lay the reason for this cruel remodel of his private domain. Henry cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, and marched into the offending room.

"Oh." The sweet pastel walls depicted a mural of the seaside. Pressed against said walls were bright yellow shelves packed tightly with various toys and children's' books. "I'll be damned, it's a nursery!" The added reminder of his impending fatherhood dazed Henry so much so that his legs would no longer support him. He backed into a rocking chair and sat for quite some time, lost in the fog of unexpected changes.

Mrs. Pearce found him some time later, and let out a strangled cry, thus yanking Henry from his reverie.

"Confound it!" Henry cried, clutching his chest as though to keep it from bursting.

"Professor Higgins, what on earth are you doing in the nursery? What on earth are you doing home?"

Henry frowned. "This nursery used to be a perfectly good study. What the devil happened to it?"

Mrs. Pearce lifted her chin imperiously. "Mrs. Higgins saw fit to change it to her liking."

"Why the bloody hell did you let my mother remodel my home?"

"I was referring to your wife. She was in poor spirits, and the project lifted her mood considerably." Mrs. Pearce sighed. "I suppose you know that unnecessary stress could be quite dangerous to her at this point?"

"I was informed that Eliza's health is poorly, yes. What of it?"

"Well, only that I suppose your appearance may initially upset her, sir. Before you go and reacquaint yourself with Mrs. Higgins, perhaps it would be wise for me to gently break the news to her."

Henry nodded in agreement, although the news that his appearance would upset Eliza stung a bit. "I shall remain here until I am summoned, Mrs. Pearce."

Eliza awoke, feeling surprisingly serene. Ordinarily, she would awake in tears, with a gut-wrenching feeling of emptiness. Although her day-to-day mood had improved in the past few months, her nights were still plagued with dreams of Henry leaving her. Not the night before, though. Indeed, it had begun with the familiar nightmare of herself chasing after Henry's retreating figure, never quite being able to catch up with him. This time, Henry turned to her, and swept her into his arms, holding her tenderly, and wordlessly. It had turned into a very pleasant dream indeed.

Mrs. Pearce came into her room with a breakfast tray. "Good morning, my dear. I know the fare is rather bland, but I won't be leaving the room until you eat every bite. "

"You act as though I would turn down good food, Mrs. Pearce," Eliza replied before blowing on her porridge to cool it down.

"You seem rather chipper this morning."

"I had a decent night of sleep for once, Mrs. Pearce. It did wonders for me."

Mrs. Pearce seemed to be on the verge of saying something, but the woman held back. Eliza shrugged it off as unimportant, and allowed herself to be groomed, and carried down to her sitting room. Once Eliza was happily situated, Mrs. Pearce gave her a weak smile.

"Mrs. Higgins-… Eliza, I must tell you something."

"What is it, Mrs. Pearce?"

At that very moment, the door to the sitting room was flung open, and Freddy Eynsford-Hill came rushing in, with the butler closely on his heels.

"Mrs. Higgins, I tried to stop him-"

"Eliza, I beg you to hear me out!"

Needless to say, Eliza was quite bewildered by the turn of events, but, out of guilt for the last time she and Freddy met, decided to wave the servants away and give the young man the floor.

To Eliza's mortification, Freddy chose to renew his affections for her. In broad, flowery language, Freddy expressed his sympathy for Eliza's abandoned state of matrimony, decried all manner of tradition, renounced society, and begged her to take him as a lover.

"Freddy, are you aware that I am going to have another man's child?" Eliza asked, removing the afghan that obscured her midriff.

Freddy winced as if in pain, but then smiled, his beautiful eyes sparkling. "My love, it does not matter. I will care for your child as if it were my own. We can move away from here and set up a home with the allowance your blackguard husband sends you, and if he divorces you, I will marry you!"

Before Eliza could reply, she received the second major shock of the day when her long-lost husband burst through the door, face red with rage.

"Like hell you will!" Henry thundered, beyond all reasoning. He had been listening in since the moment he heard Freddy's asinine voice echo through the halls. The boy paled considerably at Henry's sudden appearance.

"Here now, I thought you had bolted, old man!"

"Well, you thought wrong, you impudent pup! Get the hell away from my wife and never grace these halls again, I say!"

The onslaught of raised voices caused Mrs. Pearce, Colonel Pickering, and several concerned servants to flood into the sitting room. In a very uncharacteristic turn, Colonel Pickering swore a bloody oath at the sight of his old friend.

Freddy had the appearance of a cornered rabbit, and with one more backward glance at Eliza, he turned tail and fled.

The entire room turned deadly silent, and all attention turned to Eliza. The shock had struck her quite dumb, and she stared silently at her husband.

"You've returned," Eliza finally spoke. Her voice came out faraway, disconnected from her surroundings. She rose to her feet, unsteadily, and walked towards Henry, who almost appeared frightened at what was to happen next. No one made a move to stop her progress.

When Eliza reached Henry, she raised a hand to touch his cheek, as if to ascertain that he was not a specter. His eyes closed at her gentle touch, and then he cheeks promptly stung at her vicious slap.

"How dare you show your face around here!" Eliza cried. She opened her mouth to launch into a tirade, but closed it suddenly, a spasm of pain crossed her features.

"Eliza?" Henry asked feebly.

"You bloody bastard, 'Enry 'Iggins, you've brought on the baby, you 'ave!"


	28. Trouble and Strife

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Trouble and Strife

* * *

The pain was excruciating. Really, and truly awful. Henry Higgins rubbed his temples, in a vain attempt to quell the sharp hammering in his head. Eliza's agonizing cries were only slightly muffled by the closed door.

"Is she in much pain?" Henry asked Mrs. Pearce as she passed him in the hallway, bearing a bucket of hot water. Mrs. Pearce gave Henry a look that said 'You are a very stupid person', and nodded.

"The first ones always hurt the worst, sir." With that, Mrs. Pearce attempted to walk around him, as Henry was blocking her pathway back to Eliza's room. Henry sidestepped in front of her, and she sighed impatiently. "What else troubles you, sir?"

"Will it be much longer?"

"It could be hours, sir."

"Hours? It's already been three!"

Mrs. Pearce did not dignify his last remark with a response, merely pushed past him with great haste, and entered the bedroom.

"Did you hear that, Pickering? Hours! Have you ever heard anything so ridiculous?" Henry and Pickering retreated to the study, whereupon Henry collapsed on the sofa with a petulant sigh. "Babies will take their sweet time being born, will they not?"

"You forget that I was once a father, Henry. My Amita was in labor for nearly thirty hours."

The fact that Pickering's lover had not survived the birthing hung heavy and unspoken between the two men.

"Babies are more trouble than what they are worth," Henry groused, accepting a glass of port from Pickering.

"Children are a delight, Higgins; you'll see soon enough."

"I rather doubt it. You have to feed and clothe them, and you can't keep them in a cage all day like a bird. Birds are a delight."

"You will think differently in a few hours time, Higgins. I am hoping Eliza gives you a little girl. Delightfully heartless creatures, little girls. You hand them your beating hearts, and they cheerfully stomp on them."

"No, let it be a boy, if it has to be anything. Someone who I can impart my wisdom to, and trust not to fall to pieces at the drop of a hat."

"I daresay you will be disappointed."

Henry raised an eyebrow. "Care to make a wager?"

"Fiver?"

They shook hands.

It was only a matter of time before Henry's truncated study accumulated more guests. Edward and Alfred joined them, and the stock of alcohol was increased significantly with Alfred's contribution. As the hours passed, the small wager soon became a pool, with Alfred phoning a few of his old companions to let them in on the fun.

Henry started to become drowsy from the drink, but was jolted quite suddenly by a particularly pained cry coming from Eliza's room. He ran up the stairs, tousled and stumbling, and pounded on the bedroom door.

His mother answered the door and glared at him. "Henry, get back downstairs with the other gentlemen!" She scolded, crossly.

"She's dying, isn't she?" Henry asked, drunkenly.

An oath erupted from Eliza, so vile, that Henry hesitated to recount it to Pickering afterwards. It was enough to instantly sober him. "Eliza!" He cried.

"Get out of 'ere! You're 'ead ought to be mounted on a friggin' pike for what you've done to me!" Eliza screamed before Eleanor Higgins slammed the door.

Henry, having been severely rebuked, returned to the study.

It was shortly after that Mrs. Pearce came down the study to announce that a child had been born. "A healthy little girl, sir!" She gushed, uncharacteristically ecstatic. "She's big for being slightly early, and has the most indecently full head of dark curls I've ever seen on a newborn."

"Ha! Down to the very hour!" crowed Pickering. He grinned sheepishly at Mrs. Pearce when she shot him a quizzical look. "Erm- Congratulations, Higgins."

"What of my wife?" demanded Henry, a hint of hysteria in his voice.

"Exhausted, of course." Not dead. Henry rushed from the room without looking back. He was set on seeing Eliza for himself, let no one stand in his way!

He opened the door, to discover his very-much-alive wife, propped up by many pillows, holding a small bundle in her arms. Henry was struck by Eliza's pale but serene expression as she gazed down at the face of their daughter. He gave a start when Jane squeezed his arm, and saw that she was grinning with tears shining in her eyes. Jane dutifully summoned Doctor Burke, and the rest of the ladies from the room, and shut the door, leaving Henry alone with his wife.

"Come see your daughter, Henry," Eliza finally spoke, without meeting his gaze. Henry approached as if in a trance, and took a seat next to the bed. Sure enough, the infant possessed a pretty head of dark curls. It was impossible to discern who she resembled most; to Henry, at least, she resembled a small, wrinkled monkey.

"Eleanor Jane. Little Elle." Eliza cooed softly. It took Henry a moment to realize that that was the child's name.

"Catchy, that."

After a few beats of awkward silence, Eliza spoke again. "It seems we've much to discuss, Husband."

Rather impulsively, Henry grabbed one of Eliza's hands and pressed it to his lips. "My darling, I am so sorry," he apologized, voice hoarse with raw emotion.

Eliza pulled her hand away, and shifted the weight of Little Elle to one side. "Would you please fetch Mrs. Pearce, and have her take Elle to the nursery? I do not want to wake her." Eliza's voice betrayed no astonishment at the fact that her undemonstrative husband had begun to humble himself before her.

"Give her to me, I will take her to Mrs. Pearce." Eliza handed Little Elle to Henry, who accepted the bundle with awkward, and slightly trembling arms.

The chit was so light to carry, it was as if Henry had nothing in his arms but air. He marveled at his daughter as he carried her out the door and down the hall. It seemed every time he looked upon her, the early observation of her resembling a monkey seemed entirely inaccurate. Here was a beauty to behold! Little Elle opened her eyes for a moment, and Henry was pleased to note that the shape of them were Eliza's precisely, although it was too early to determine what color her eyes would settle upon.

"Hello, Daughter," Henry greeted. Little Elle closed her eyes once more, as though the mere purpose of her waking up was to get a better look at her father. Henry was astonished at how hesitant he was to give the child to Mrs. Pearce. He shrugged it off as dread over having to finally confront Eliza about his behavior.

Henry returned to the bedroom and took his seat once more. He gave the room a once over. "I see the decorators have been here as well," he observed.

"Why didn't you just stay away?" The remark completely bowled Henry over.

"You are displeased with my reappearance?"

"I never wanted you to leave in the first place!" Eliza cried, surprisingly strong voiced for a woman who had just labored in excruciating pain for hours on end.

"I had- That is, I felt I had to."

"Why?"

"I… I couldn't face what I had done to your mother."

Eliza glared at him. "You abandoned me because you could not face something you had done years ago?"

"I didn't think you would forgive me."

Eliza slapped her palm down on the surface of the nightstand, the sound reverberated like a canon volley to Henry's ears. "Why couldn't you let me be the judge of that? You've never treated me with kid gloves before, Henry." She sighed. "Of course I would have been upset, initially, but I would have discussed it with you. Yes, it was an awful thing you did, and the consequences were far-reaching. Yes, it would have been hard to forget the actions of a brash young man, but, I would have forgiven the man that the little boy had become. I would have forgiven you anything."

Henry's heart skipped a beat, and promptly sank. "Would have?"

Tears sprung to Eliza's eyes. "Had you been honest, yes, I would have; but, you ran. You left me alone, confused, and-" She paused once more, the emotion in her voice becoming too much to bear. "Heartbroken. How I loved you, Henry! I loved you, and you left."

Henry's reserve cracked a bit with every past tense that left Eliza's lips. _Loved_.

"Eliza, please don't rescind your regard for me, I can't bear it."

"It's the least of what you deserve!"

Henry dropped to his knees at her bedside, grasped her hands within his, and bowed his head in contrition. "Eliza, tell me what to do and I will do it. Do you want me to fling open the windows and shout to the streets below how I love you? Shall I rip my heart out and present it to you? I… I will write my will and leave you sole benefactor, and then throw myself into the Thames. Anything you would like, my dear; just don't dismiss us so coldly. I do love you."

There. It was done. Henry had shrugged aside his mask of cold indifference and reserve and humbled himself before his wife, just as he had planned. He had thought, whilst planning to do this, that it would feel humiliating and wrong-footed, but the words were flowing like a river's waters, and just as naturally.

"Words. Bloody Hell! If black could be made white by talking, you would be the man for the job." Henry looked up at Eliza's cold reply. Although her voice was controlled, he noted that she was not entirely unmoved by his speech. Her lips were trembling, as well as her hands, and the tears had fallen more freely since he finished talking.

"I meant every word, Eliza."

Eliza's eyes met his in a steely, determined glare. "Did you?"

"Of course."

Eliza slipped her hands out from his slackened grasp, and then cupped his face between them.

"Show me."

The End

* * *

Author's Note: Yes, I realize that this is a horrible spot to end a story on. Does she forgive him? Do they have a chance? Well, gentle reader, this story will continue in "Romancing the Guttersnipe", coming soon to the My Fair Lady section of ! Many thanks to Lady Weasleyy, and my bestie since the sixth grade, Miss Teckla! You ladies make me English write good! ;)

Also, thank you to my readers, especially those who take the time to review. You praise, and critiques are the fuel that keep me going!

PS: Many apologies for blatantly stealing a line from "Revolutionary Road". It was just so good, I had to borrow it!


End file.
